


Unicorn Blood in the Forbidden Forest (The New Trio, First Year)

by Tathrin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 19 years later, Canon Compliant, Gen, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts First Year, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-22 10:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11965071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tathrin/pseuds/Tathrin
Summary: It has been nineteen years since the last battle of the war was fought at Hogwarts Castle. The school has since been repaired and today the children of the heroes — and villains — who once fought there have come to begin their magical education. In this age of peace they expect to find nothing worse waiting for them within its walls than pranks and punishments for late assignments, but peace has always been imperfect and there are shadows in the Forbidden Forest that stretch beyond the castle doors.





	1. September the 1st

**Author's Note:**

> This will not be compatible with The Cursed Child. I have neither read the book nor seen the play and currently have no plans of doing either, so don’t expect any purposeful similarities or storyline correlations. This story is otherwise compatible with all canon not stemming from that source.

"Personally I think a revised and updated edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ is long overdue. I mean, the current version doesn't even get up to the 1990s, which was a pretty big decade for the school what with the war that got fought there and how half the castle was basically torn-down and rebuilt!" Rose let out a disgruntled _huff_ of a sigh and crossed her arms. "It's so outdated it's almost not even worth reading," she lamented.

"And yet, let me guess, you read it three times?"

"Four," Rose admitted. She could feel her cheeks turning pink.

The older students laughed but it didn't feel malicious; they all flashed smiles at her as they chuckled or chortled and one of them whose name Rose had already forgotten leaned over to pat her approvingly on the shoulder.

"I told you, she's going to be one of us." That was Dominique, one of Rose's many cousins, and she sounded pleased about the idea of Rose being sorted into Ravenclaw like she and her siblings had been. Rose was hoping to go to Gryffindor like her mum and dad, but she wouldn't be upset if she ended up in Ravenclaw instead. Having now met and been welcomed by Dominique's friends and fellow Ravenclaw students, she felt even better about the possibility than she had out on the platform.

Dominique was four years older than Rose, beautiful, popular, and a Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. She didn't look like the average Beater—tall and willowy, with silky hair that was silvery-blonde at the root and a darker red-gold where the tips brushed her shoulders—but she was said to be ferocious on the pitch. Having played a few pick-up games at family gatherings with and against her cousins over the years, Rose could back that statement up. Some of the Ravenclaws sitting with them flew on the team with Dominique; Rose guessed that the others had simply gravitated to her brusque-but-charming cousin because of Dom's cheerful personality and stunning good looks. She wasn't _exactly_ at the center of everyone's focus, but no one in their crowded train compartment was ignoring her either. Rose wasn't sure how much of that was due to the drop of Veela-heritage that Dom had gotten from her mother but given that nobody was ignoring _her_ , either, she had to think that most of the people there genuinely liked her cousin, not just her charms.

They hadn't complained when Dominique had ushered two burgeoning first years into the compartment with them at least, which Rose appreciated. It was a much warmer reception than James's friends had given them when Rose had poked her head in to see if there were any free seats for her and Albus in with them.

Rose now turned to Albus, her favorite cousin and best friend, who was sitting next to her on the bench, but when she saw his face she forgot what she had been about to say. Albus's coppery cheeks had faded to a sickly taupe-gray and his knuckles were clenched so tight atop his knees that she could almost see the bones shining through his skin.

"You know," she said loudly, turning back to Dominique, "I feel a little queasy actually. I think it's probably just motion sickness. I'm going to go for a walk, see if that helps settle my stomach. Come on Albus, you can make sure I don't get woozy or vomit or something."

Waving absently to the half-heard farewells and sympathies from the Ravenclaws, and ignoring both Albus's protests and Dominique's offer of assistance, Rose bustled Albus out the door and slid it shut behind the both of them. She pulled him down the hallway a little, far enough that she was reasonably sure that Dom and her friends wouldn't be able to overhear, and then asked, "What's wrong?"

"What?" said Albus. "Me? Nothing. You're the one who's motion-sick. Since when do you ever get—?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "I'm not _really_ sick," she said. "But you looked like you were about to be."

"Wait, you made that up?"

"Of course," said Rose. She planted her hands on her hips and glared at Albus. "What, would you rather I'd asked what was bothering you in front of everyone?" He didn't answer right away so Rose continued, rather more pointedly, "Would you have answered if I had?"

Albus ducked his head, dodging her gaze. "Nothing's wrong," he muttered.

Rose knew that was a lie so she ignored it. " _Is_ it motion-sickness, do you think?" she asked. "The train is rattling a bit. We can go back and see if Dom's got something that'll help—"

"No," Albus said quickly, paling further.

"I'll say it's for me," Rose started to offer, but he cut her off again.

"No, I don't feel sick. I mean, maybe a little, but it's not because of the train. I'm just—nervous."

The admission clearly pained him but Rose couldn't let him off with just that; she needed to know more. "Nervous about what?" she asked.

"Hogwarts, obviously," said Albus, but he still wasn't meeting her eyes. "Aren't you nervous?"

"Of course." Rose shrugged. "Mostly excited, though. We've only been waiting for this our whole lives!"

"Right," said Albus. His shoulders had been drawing in more and more as he spoke, and he now looked like a turtle with extremely untidy black hair. "Yep. I'm very excited."

Rose frowned at him. "You don't look it," she said bluntly. "You look like you're about to vom."

"It was just—crowded in there," he replied evasively. "Anyway, you should go back. I mean, if you're not actually sick…well, I'm sure Dom and her friends want to talk to you about Ravenclaw more."

"They were talking to both of us," Rose pointed out. "You just weren't saying anything back."

Albus shook his head, but he gave her a watery smile, which was an improvement over his previous expression at least. "No," he said, "they were talking to you. I was just sitting nearby."

Rose rolled her eyes again. "Well, then speak-up next time." She knew that Albus wasn't as outgoing as she was, but ordinarily that just meant he liked letting her take the lead so he didn't have to be. She wasn't sure why he was acting so strangely but it was starting to make her stomach feel as unsettled as she had claimed it was. She squinted at him the way she would have at a book written in particularly faded or tiny letters, as though she'd be able to figure out what was bothering him if she just _looked_ hard enough. Unfortunately nobody had written _Albus, A History_ for her to read so that didn't help.

The train car they were in gave a clang and swayed sideways, making both of them stumble; Rose braced herself on the wall but Albus tripped and almost landed on his knees before he managed to catch his balance again. "Let's find somewhere to sit," he suggested. "Somewhere _else_ to sit, if you don't want to go back and have the Ravenclaws fawn over you some more."

"They were not _fawning_ ," Rose retorted heatedly, following Albus down the hallway. "Anyway, our stuff is all back there."

"You can go back if you want," Albus said over his shoulder. "I'm going to find somewhere that's not so crowded."

Rose _huffed_ in irritation but she didn't go back. She and Albus had been talking about going to Hogwarts together since they had learned how to talk. She wasn't about to sit with _other people_ instead of him now that they were finally on their way!

They passed a few compartments that only had two or three students in, but Albus kept walking so Rose walked with him. She was trying to remember if he had said anything on the platform that might give her a clue why he was acting so oddly, but she'd been too caught-up in her own excited nerves to pay attention to anything else. She'd barely even heard her dad telling her to do well on her tests; she'd been too focused on gawking at the big scarlet steam engine while all the stories she'd ever heard about Hogwarts tumbled around willy-nilly inside her head to do more than grunt in reply. Of _course_ she would do well on her tests and outscore everybody else; she'd gotten the top scores almost every year at Muggle primary school after all. She wasn't worried about keeping her grades up at Hogwarts—much.

When Albus stopped Rose almost tripped over his feet in her distraction. "Last compartment," he said to her, sliding the door open with a grin. "Empty. Looks like it's for us."

Rose followed Albus inside and looked around. It looked just like the compartment that they had been sitting in with Dominique and her friends save for the absence of cheerful Ravenclaw fifth years to talk and joke with. Rose stifled a sigh and took a seat on one of the long, empty benches. Albus settled down on the other one and leaned against the window, watching the world pass by outside.

She quite generously gave him ten minutes to settle his nerves before she said, "Okay, so seriously Al, what's bothering you?"

Albus sat upright again with a jerk. "What?" he said, his voice tight. "Nothing's bothering me. Why?"

Rose raised her eyebrows. "I have known you since we were in diapers. Since we were _born_. Please. I can tell when there's something bothering you." She sniffed and added, "You're not even doing a good job of hiding it anyway. I bet even James would notice and he's got the emotional sensitivity of a garden gnome."

That got her a smile, but only a smile, and a weak one at that. It _should_ have earned her at least a laugh if not a follow-up quip but Albus said nothing, just turned to stare out the window again. He fidgeted with the side seam of his denims, picking at a loose thread.

Rose counted slowly to twenty, then said, "Albus Severus Potter. You had just _better_ tell me what's going on right this minute or _else_." She used the voice her mum used when she was at the end of her patience. It never failed to get results for Hermione.

It got results for Rose, too. Albus turned from the window, flinching heavily, and met her eyes. His were full of guilt and repentance. "Sorry," he said. "I'm not trying to put you off. I just—I don't know how to explain…"

"Just try," Rose said encouragingly. "Remember, I'm used to translating your nonsense into proper words."

"Ha, ha," said Albus, which was another good sign, sort of. He sighed, laced his fingers together, and worried at his thumbs like he was trying to scrape off old nail varnish. "Okay, well, I guess it sort of started with James, only not really, because I was worried even before he started teasing me, but then I—"

The door to their compartment slid open and Rose turned to face the interruption with a blazing glare. She had _finally_ gotten Albus to talk, and somebody had chosen _this_ moment to intrude—?

The intruder was a skinny blond boy who looked to be the same age as them. He had a pinched, pointed face and he was paler than old ivory. He was wearing robes, not Muggle clothes, and there was a large trunk in the hallway behind him. "Good afternoon," he said, "excuse me. I'm so sorry to intrude." His voice was shrill and Rose realized, as she stopped glaring, that he looked nervous. "I was just—I was wondering if you would mind if I sat with you? There's nowhere else that's free…"

"I guess," Rose snapped in a voice that said _you'd better not_ , "if you really have to."

Somehow the boy managed to go paler. He hesitated in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. "Well…" he said.

"It's fine," said Albus, "come on in. There's plenty of room."

Rose glared at him but Albus wasn't looking at her so he didn't see. The blond boy shuffled inside, dragging his trunk behind him. There was a covered basket on top. Rose wondered what he had in there—probably a cat or a maybe a rat, although she supposed it could also be a toad. He put the basket on the bench but when he tried to lift the trunk into the overhead luggage rack it proved to be too heavy for him. Albus and Rose got up to help, Rose grudgingly, and together the three of them wrestled the thing into place.

"I don't know how you're going to get that out again," Rose observed flatly.

The boy frowned. "Oh," he said, "I didn't think of that…"

"We'll help you get it down when you need it," Albus assured him.

"If we're still here," Rose said bluntly. "Our things are back in another compartment with our cousin. We'll be heading back there at some point. We just wanted to get some air. That's why we were sitting here. _Alone_."

Albus shot her a frown. "But we can help you get it down before we go, at least," he said, elbowing Rose in the ribs. She sniffed and sat down again, planting herself firmly in the middle of her bench. Albus gave her a pointed look, as though she was being rude; Rose ignored him. If this boy wanted to come intrude on them that was fine, but Rose wasn't going to squeeze herself into a corner to make him comfortable. They'd been here first, after all. If he didn't like the accommodations, he could leave.

Albus slid into the space between Rose and the window—there _was_ plenty of room on the wide benches for several people to sit, after all, so it wasn't as though she'd been taking-up more space than she had a right to, no matter what Albus seemed to think—leaving the whole other bench for the blond boy with the pointy nose. He sat down next to his basket and smiled nervously at both of them. "Thank you," he said. "You've both been very nice. I appreciate it." He cleared his throat, went somehow _even paler_ —Rose was starting to wonder if he even _had_ blood in his veins—and said in a high, tight voice, "My name's Scorpius Malfoy. It's a pleasure to meet you both." He extended his hand.

For a moment his thin, white fingers hung there, swaying slightly with the motion of the train, in the empty space between their benches.

Then Albus leaned forward and closed his sturdy brown fingers around Scorpius's boney hand, shaking it firmly. "I'm Albus Potter," he said. "Nice to meet you too."

"Rose," said Rose, when they both turned to look at her. "Rose Granger-Weasley. I know your name."

Scorpius drew back like he'd been stung by something, his reach for Rose's hand forgotten. "Oh yes?" he said. His voice was even higher and tighter now. "Well your names aren't exactly unfamiliar either."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Of course they aren't," she said tartly. "We _know_ who we are, thanks. You're not pointing-out anything we haven't heard a dozen times before."

"He didn't actually say anything about it," Albus protested quietly. "You don't need to jump down his throat."

Rose ignored him, keeping her narrowed eyes fixed on Scorpius. "I've been reading-up on history," she told him. "Malfoy is a name that comes up a lot, recently too. Any relation to Draco Malfoy? Or Lucius Malfoy?"

Scorpius's cheeks were still pale but now their bone-white pallor was broken by two bright pink spots under each cheekbone, like angry rosebuds about to uncurl. "My father," he said in clipped tones, "and my grandfather. Yes."

Rose gave a little start of surprise. She hadn't expected _that_ answer—but suddenly her father's words on the platform came back clearly through her distraction. "Oh," she said. "I don't think my dad likes you much."

"I don't think we've been introduced, your father and I," Scorpius said coldly, "so how he can have any opinion about me, I'm sure I have no idea."

Rose barked a laugh. "Do you talk like that all the time?" she asked him. "Or are you just showing-off for school?"

Scorpius's chilly indignation slipped, crinkled-up in confusion, and collapsed. "What?" he said. "No, I—I always talk like that." He paused. "How else should I talk?"

"Don't worry about it," Albus told him. "There's nothing wrong with the way you talk. Rose is just being a jerk."

Rose gasped. "I am not!" she exclaimed, although a little voice in the back of her mind argued that Albus wasn't _entirely_ wrong. "You just sound very _pretentious_ , is all."

Scorpius frowned. "I'm not sure I agree with that," he said, but Albus was waving the argument away.

"So, what've you got in there?" he asked, pointing at the basket, which there was really no need to ask about, because anyone with sense could deduce that it held a cat. What other animal would one put in a basket that size? Even the largest rat would have been dwarfed, and toads weren't exactly _basket-sitting_ creatures. **  
**

Scorpius grinned, pulled the lid off, and reached inside. When he drew his hands back out they held a small ball of pale fur between them. A striped tail drooped down beneath but the rest of the creature was curled up tight—a cat, just as Rose had thought.

Scorpius put the cat on his lap and coaxed it with gentle pets until it uncurled. A narrow face topped by ridiculously big ears looked out at Rose and Albus through bright blue eyes and Rose revised her assumption: this wasn't a cat, it was still a kitten. A tiny little ball of pale gold fur with darker stripes up and down its legs and tail and even across its face. Two arched stripes above each eye made the kitten look like it was raising its eyebrows in perpetual surprise.

"This is Snidget," Scorpius said. "We were going to get an owl, to make it easier for me to send letters home, you know? But my aunts wrote us a few weeks ago to say that one of their cats had had kittens, and did we want any, so we went to see, and—" He shrugged. "Well, one look at this little fellow and I was smitten." He beamed at the cat and lifted one of its paws, making it wave at Rose and Albus. "You can pet him if you like," Scorpius added. "He's very friendly. At least, he's been friendly with everyone he's met so far, although that's not actually all that many people, just my family…"

Rose hesitated, feeling somehow that petting the cat would be an admission of some kind of surrender, but Albus reached right over and scratched the little creature under its chin. It let out a purr so loud that he jumped and then laughed. Rose gave in and reached over to pet the kitten too but before she could touch it, Snidget jumped off of Scorpius's lap and up into the luggage rack overhead where he snuffled around, investigating every inch. He didn't seem to mind the way it swayed with the train's steady chugging motion.

Rose and Albus returned to their seats. "Snidget, huh?" Albus said. "So let me guess, you hope to fly Seeker for your house?"

"No," Scorpius shook his head, "I just named him that because of the color."

Rose had to admit that the kitten did sort of resemble a Golden Snitch, at least more than he did a Quaffle or a Bludger.

"Actually," Scorpius continued, "I think I'd rather be a Chaser."

"But you do want to try out for your house team?" Rose confirmed, mentally chalking Scorpius down as future competition—either for a slot on the team if they ended up in the same house, or across the other side of the pitch if they were sorted separately.

Scorpius nodded. "Of course," he said. "Don't you?"

"Well, yes," Rose admitted. "Obviously. Doesn't everyone?"

Albus laughed. "Maybe not _everyone_ , Rosie...but most everyone we know." He explained to Scorpius, "Quidditch is pretty popular in our family. My mum even played for the Harpies for a while, and she reports on it in the _Prophet_ now."

"Oh," said Scorpius, "Right. I think I've read some of her columns..."

"So why don't you want to go for Seeker?" Rose asked. "If you like Snitches enough to name your cat after one, I mean?"

Scorpius fidgeted with the embroidery on the edge of his sleeve and replied slowly, "Well, It's not that I'd _mind_ playing Seeker if that's where I was put, but I'd _rather_ play Chaser—If I could choose, you know?"

Albus nodded. "Same here," he said. "The Seeker's just..." he trailed-off with a shrug.

"Not really _part_ of things," Scorpius said, agreeing with whatever it was that Albus had left unsaid. "You spend the whole game sort of flying off by yourself, ignoring everything else while everybody plays without you. You only come in at the end, really."

"And then all the pressure's on you, win or lose," Albus grumbled. "No thanks."

"That's not true." Rose frowned. "A proper team doesn't just laze-about and wait for the Snitch to be caught. They'll be scoring points and—"

"I know," Albus interrupted her, "but I'm just saying, from the perspective of the Seeker, it has to kind of feel like that, right? Like in the end, it all comes down to you. No matter what happens, you're the one who gets the blame—or the credit, I guess—because you're the one who makes the _last_ move in the game."

Rose didn't stop frowning but she did nod. "I suppose I can see that..."

Scorpius, however, was nodding eagerly. "Right," he said, "and I'd rather be _part_ of the match, you know? At least, I think I would. I _assume_ I would." He shrugged. "I mean, I've never played in a real game before, obviously. Not with full teams." He laughed, as if the possibility of coming up with fourteen people ready to jump on brooms all at one time was ridiculous.

Rose smirked. "We have," she said. "Well, not on a real pitch or anything," she clarified when she saw Albus opening his mouth to argue, "but we've got a large family, like Albus said, and most everybody likes to fly. Between all our cousins and parents and aunts and uncles—and our _unofficial_ aunts and uncles and _their_ kids—well, when we all get together for anything, there's almost always Quidditch of _some_ kind," she bragged.

"Wow." Scorpius's pale eyes were shining. "That would be incredible. We've got a pitch at my house—not regulation size or anything, a miniature one—but I've never flown with more than a handful of people before. That sounds..." He swallowed and continued in a slightly higher voice, "Anyway, I'm looking forward to trying out for my house team. Once I know what, er, what house that'll be, of course." He shook his head and added quickly, "Anyway, I think it's rubbish that first years aren't allowed to play."

"It is!" Rose said, in sudden sharp agreement with the prissy boy. "We can't even have brooms at school! It's absurd, completely unfair!"

Albus nodded his agreement but he looked distracted by some other thought and didn't comment; Rose didn't need him to, she was already off on a tear: "A person's merit should be judged on their _merit_ , not their age! Maybe most first years won't be good enough to make their team, fine, but some of them would be, and isn't that the whole point of having try-outs? So people can _try_ , and see how they do?"

Albus continued to nod along as she spoke—he'd heard, and participated in, this argument many times this summer for all the good it had done—but Scorpius leaned back in his seat as though frightened, or at least overwhelmed by her vehement tone and wide, angry gestures. Rose ignored him and kept ranting: "And if it were some kind of dumb unspoken rule, like a tradition, well that would be one thing, and that would be stupid enough frankly—but it isn't, it's more than that, because first years can't have brooms, and nobody is going to be able to fly on their house team with the rubbish brooms the school has! Dad told me, it's all broken-down old stuff that's mostly been left behind by students who didn't want them anymore—things that don't steer straight, or shake if you get them too high, or have hardly any bristles left."

"No," Scorpius breathed, looking appalled. "Really? Nobody mentioned that…"

Rose nodded hard but she didn't break stride to assure him she wasn't making it up. She was on a roll, and she was going to keep going until she ran out of words. "Mum pointed-out that it's not exactly fair for Muggle-born students or those who live in, like, cities or the middle of Muggle towns or whatever, and don't have anywhere they can go to fly without being seen, because they won't have had a chance to practice before they get to school, and all right, that's true, but so what?" Rose was talking faster now, her voice doing that annoying shrill thing it did when she got excited or annoyed, but she didn't let that deter her. "They can try-out their second year instead, and if they _want_ to try-out their first they should be allowed to, too. Albus's dad flew on _his_ house team _his_ first year at school, and _he_ was raised by Muggles and never flew before coming to school. And at the _least_ they should let us have brooms there, because it would make it easier for everybody who's never gotten to fly before to practice if they don't have to share the school brooms."

She took a deep breath, ready to launch into the follow-up portion of her argument, but at that moment Scorpius's cat gave a high warble and launched itself from the luggage rack. The cat landed on the top of Rose's head, staggering her, dug its claws in for purchase, and launched itself again, this time springing almost straight-up. It caught the edge of the luggage rack over Rose's head with its front paws, scrabbled at the air with its back legs for a moment, and then hauled itself up over the rim. Rose heard a _thump_ from above her as the cat settled into the middle of the rack and then soft, padding sounds as it walked around, exploring its new environs.

"OW!" Rose cried, grabbing her head. It didn't actually hurt that much—while her hair wasn't the impossible brown bush of a mane that her mother and brother possessed it was still quite thick, so she had barely felt the claws—but it had still been an unpleasant shock to have a cat, even a tiny kitten, use her like a springboard.

It didn't help that both boys were laughing at her. Rose glared at them, but for some reason that only made them laugh harder. Scorpius was hunched over in his seat, clutching his stomach, giggling like an obnoxious silver bell. Albus on the other hand had laughed so hard that he had rolled off the bench and now sat on the floor, howling.

"It isn't funny," Rose snapped, which made them both laugh even harder. "Oooh!" she stomped a foot in frustration; at eleven Rose was already tall enough that her feet reached the floor of the compartment, albeit just barely. The fact that both Albus and Scorpius were shorter, with feet that dangled an inch or more above the ground when they sat back the whole way, would ordinarily have made Rose feel nicely smug—but not when she was being laughed at.

She glowered at them until they finally stopped. Albus crawled back up onto the bench, wiping his streaming eyes on the back of his hand. Rose thought about pushing him back onto the floor but she resisted the urge. He did notice her glaring, though, and he bit his lip until he'd swallowed the rest of his laughter.

In the voice of somebody deliberately changing the subject, Albus said, "Maybe they think first year students are stressed-out enough without adding-in Quidditch?" He shrugged, casually, as if the idea had only just occurred to him and didn't carry much weight. "Maybe they want to make sure we have time to get used to Hogwarts before they add the pressure of training and matches and stuff."

Rose sniffed, unconvinced.

Scorpius looked thoughtful, his pinched little face furrowing in a speculative frown. "Could be," he said. "Then again, I'd think that Quidditch—or at least, being able to fly on your own broom whenever you wanted to that the pitch wasn't in use—would help bleed-off some of that stress, wouldn't you?" He looked down and added in a quieter voice, "Although I guess that depends on whether you'd be trying-out for the _right_ team or not..."

"Worried about the Sorting?" Albus asked, his own voice low. Suddenly all trace of laughter was gone from his tone and posture. Rose looked at him curiously.

"What's to worry about?" she asked, frowning. "It's not like there's a _wrong answer_." She laughed, but neither of them joined-in.

"Maybe one," Albus muttered.

"Or three," Scorpius said under his breath.

"What are you two on about?" Rose asked.

The two boys exchanged a look, oddly united for people who had only just met, and Rose felt a funny little twist in her stomach as though she _was_ getting motion-sick. Usually Albus only looked at her like that: like they could read each other's minds and didn't need words except to explain to other people what they were thinking about. It made Rose feel like _she_ was "other people" all of a sudden, and she didn't like that one bit.

"What?" she demanded.

It was Scorpius who answered first: "My family has a…a tradition of all being sorted into the same house," he explained slowly. "I—I suppose it's silly," he tried to smile and failed badly, "but, well, practically everybody that I'm related to have all been sorted there, and I'm…worried I might not be." He looked down, biting his lip, and drew his shoulders in tight; he gave the impression of being done speaking for the foreseeable future.

Rose stared at him curiously, about to ask _which_ house, but Albus spoke before she could. His words were so quiet she almost didn't hear him, and she turned quickly to look at him, as though that would help her hear better.

"Our family doesn't exactly have that," Albus said softly, "but _most_ everybody has gone to Gryffindor. Our parents all did." He pointed between Rose and himself; she nodded, because it was true, although she didn't see what the point was of caring. "My brother's in Gryffindor, our cousin Fred is, our cousin Lucy is—"

"And Teddy was in Hufflepuff, and so's Molly, and Victoire and Dominique and Louis are all in Ravenclaw," Rose interrupted. She shook her head. "It's not a big deal, Albus."

"It would be if somebody got sorted into Slytherin," he said darkly.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Oh, what are even the odds of that happening?" she said, and even as she said it she realized it was the wrong thing to say, but it was too late to take the words back. Albus's eyes slid away from her and fixed on the floor in front of him, or maybe just at his knees, and his shoulders drew in as well, returning to the turtle-like posture he'd had before Scorpius had interrupted them. And suddenly Rose understood, but for once understanding didn't help; she still didn't know what to say. Had Albus been acting so strangely because he was worried about being sorted into Slytherin? _Why, for Merlin's sake?_ she wanted to ask—but she didn't, because this time she thought before she opened her mouth, and she thought better of it.

For a while there was silence in their compartment aside from the quiet squeaking of the train and the snuffling sounds of Snidget the kitten exploring the luggage rack overhead. Then Scorpius spoke in a strange, strained sort of voice that rang with false good cheer:

"Funnily enough, it's Slytherin I'm hoping for," he said. He smiled but it looked as fake and empty as the bright, bubbly tone of his voice.

Rose didn't know what to say to that, either. Suddenly Albus laughed. "Well that's ironic," he said, and gave Scorpius a crooked grin. "How about this, if we both end up disappointed, we'll swap."

Scorpius's laugh was weak but his smile looked a lot more comfortable on his face now. "Perfect," he said, "it's a deal."

Rose squirmed, chewed her lip, chewed her hair, picked at her nails, then finally burst out with: "But why would you _want_ to go to Slytherin?"

Albus shot her a pointed, appalled look, but she ignored him; maybe she _was_ being rude by asking, but she had to know.

Scorpius didn't tell her to mind her own business or anything, but he did look a little miffed—maybe even hurt, but Rose dismissed that thought immediately. He just had a pallid, peaky face, that was all; it made him look wounded even when he was just sitting there, she decided. He answered readily enough, so he couldn't have been that insulted. "Why wouldn't I?" He raised his pointed chin and looked down his pointed nose at her, his voice lofty as he continued, "It's a house for people who are likely to do great things. What could be better than that?"

"Being brave," Rose countered immediately, "being smart."

Scorpius shrugged. "Both of which are traits that would certainly make it easier to do something outstanding with your life, I'm sure—but what's bravery really worth on its own, without a cause?"

Rose didn't have an answer for that. She looked at Albus, but his face was blank as well—blank and a little curious. For some reason that bothered Rose but she wasn't sure why; ordinarily she was very much in favor of curiosity, even if satisfying it necessitated breaking a rule or two. Maybe she was just feeling slighted because Albus had hardly hesitated to confess what was bothering him once Scorpius had spoken, when she'd barely been able to drag the beginning of an admission out of him on her own. She didn't like the idea that there were things he didn't want to talk to her about—and for that matter, why hadn't he mentioned anything before? They'd spent the whole summer, and most of the preceding months too, talking about Hogwarts; if he'd been bothered by the idea of getting sorted he should have said something to her about it earlier. They talked about _everything_ to each other—or at least, Rose had _thought_ they talked about everything.

Instead, he was talking to Scorpius Malfoy, a boy they hardly knew. A boy whose father and grandfather both had fought for Voldemort in the wars. A boy who _wanted_ to be sorted into Slytherin, for Merlin's sake! Rose shook her head, baffled, and glared at the pallid, sharp-featured boy with the fancy robes and the colorless eyes. He wasn't looking at her, but rather at Albus, so he didn't see her scowl.

"It's not that I've anything against Slytherin itself, of course," Albus was saying, which Rose was pretty sure was a lie, "it's just not where my—our—family go, you know?"

Scorpius nodded. "Oh yes," he said. "I've nothing against—" He paused, smiled wryly, and amended his half-spoken statement to, "That is, Ravenclaw sounds like it could be a very interesting place, and I don't think Hufflepuff is likely to be half as boring as people say it is—you wouldn't work hard at something if it _bored_ you, would you?—but I, ah…well, I don't really think I'm _suited_ to Gryffindor, let's just say." He smirked, not deliberately, but as though he couldn't help himself.

"Neither do I," Albus said, and sighed.

"What?" Rose protested, "Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

"I don't _feel_ brave," Albus muttered. "And I'm not even sure what 'chivalrous' means."

"Self-righteous, generally," Scorpius said, and immediately looked horrified with himself.

Rose would have treated him to a blistering retort but Albus laughed, so she let it go.

Scorpius smiled shyly. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean…" but he clearly _had_ meant it, so he trailed off without saying anything else.

Rose sniffed. She leaned over to suggest to Albus that they return to Dominique and the compartment where they'd left their things, but before she could speak, he said, "Would your parents be upset, you think? If you were sorted—you know, not where you ought to be?"

Scorpius fidgeted with the embroidery on his sleeve. "I don't know," he said eventually. "They _said_ it didn't matter, but…"

"You don't believe them." Albus's voice was flat; a statement, not a question. Rose looked at him curiously, wondering what sort of conversation he had had with Uncle Harry or Aunt Ginny about Slytherin that had put him in such a strange, pessimistic mood. Of course, he'd started to mention something about James, too, before they were interrupted, but even James himself often didn't know when he was being serious and when he was blowing hot air. Rose couldn't believe that Albus would lend much weight to anything his brother had said.

"Father told me he'd rather I got into Ravenclaw, actually," Scorpius said, his voice thick with skepticism. "Said he thought I'd enjoy my time at Hogwarts more as a Ravenclaw, but I suspect he was just trying to make me feel better."

Albus nodded. "My dad told me a bunch of bunk, too. He said you can—"

Rose waved him quiet so she could ask a question: "Why'd he say that about Ravenclaw?" she said, leaning forward to frown at Scorpius. "If he was in Slytherin himself, I mean—?"

"He was," Scorpius hurried to reassure her, "they all were, mother and father and my aunts and both sets of grandparents and just _everyone_ , really. Everyone who still counts as family, anyway," he muttered under his breath, and before Rose could ask what that extraordinary statement meant he continued hurriedly, "but I'm extremely smart and I like learning things." He said it matter-of-factly, as though he didn't even realize he was bragging. "Mother and father have both said they wouldn't be surprised if I ended up in Ravenclaw; said they've been expecting it since I was quite young. Grandfather did, too, although I'm not sure if he was joking or not—sometimes it's hard to tell when he's being serious."

"We have relatives like that," Albus said, his voice thick with weary commiseration.

Scorpius's mouth twisted into a thin smile but it vanished quickly, replaced by a heavy frown. "Well, I'm not going to be," he said fiercely. "I'm going to be in Slytherin."

"Bully for you," Rose muttered, rolling her eyes again. Neither of the boys were paying attention.

"I hope so," said Albus. "And no offense, but I hope I'm not there with you."

Scorpius laughed. "Thank you, and I hope not as well. Where would you like to be? If you could choose, I mean?"

Rose expected Albus to say "Gryffindor!" immediately, but instead he hesitated. When he did speak, he _did_ say, "Gryffindor, I think," but with less conviction than Rose had thought he would. She eyed her cousin speculatively, but said nothing. She was wondering now just how much Albus _didn't_ talk to her about, and why he didn't.

He kept talking to Scorpius, though. Albus asked the prissy blond boy what kind of broomstick he would have brought along if first years were allowed to have brooms, and from there they launched into a conversation comparing the technical merits of the various broomstick makers both inside Wizarding Britain and abroad. Ordinarily Rose would have joined-in on such a discussion with enthusiasm, but right now she had no heart for the topic. Finding out that Albus would rather confess his thoughts to a stranger than to his best friend was unpleasant and she couldn't help but dwell on it. When Albus attempted to draw her into the discussion by mentioning her love of Comets she only grunted, preferring to sulk rather than talk with the two of them.

Rose had halfway worked herself into a truly foul mood when there was a knock at the compartment door. It slid open and a skinny young man with a thin, unfortunate mustache poked his head inside. "Anything off the trolley, kids?" he asked.

They all jumped to their feet, Rose groping in the pocket of her denims for the extra money her dad had slipped her on the platform when mum was pretending not to look; he had winked at her and said that there was nothing like a belly full of sweets to make the long ride go faster, and besides, once they got to the school they wouldn't get to eat until after everyone had been sorted. Better to fill-up on snacks ahead of time or else she'd be too ravenous to think about anything else and he didn't want her first sight of Hogwarts spoiled by a rumbling stomach.

Rose bought some of everything and a little bit more and carried her armful of goodies back to the bench with a smile of satisfaction. Albus, she noticed, had bought nearly as much as she had, but Scorpius had only picked out a few things. Rose frowned, fought a small but vicious internal battle, and then said, "Is that all you're getting?" Not wanting to embarrass him—not _much_ , anyway—she quickly added, "I mean, if you didn't—er, didn't bring along enough pocket money for more, I can give you some. Dad handed me extra for sweets, so it's no big deal…"

"Oh no thank you," Scorpius said. "I've got plenty of gold with me, I just don't want any more. If I eat too many sweets at once, it upsets my stomach," he confessed.

Rose and Albus, both being possessed of the patented Weasley family cast-iron-bellies, turned to gape at him. Scorpius flushed and ducked his head, muttering, "It's not a big deal, I just don't want to walk into Hogwarts feeling sick. And I'm already nervous, so…"

He looked so miserable that Rose couldn't help herself; she took pity on him. "My little sis—brother, my brother has a more sensitive constitution than dad and me, too." She smiled at Scorpius but mentally she was berating herself for the slip-up; Hugo had only been her brother for a few months, and she was still getting used to the change, but that was no excuse to mis-gender him—especially in front of a stranger.

"Not that that's saying much," Albus interjected with a grin, "given that I think manticores have more sensitive constitutions than Rose and Uncle Ron."

Rose stuck her tongue out at Albus before turning back to Scorpius and saying, "He'll make himself sick trying to keep up with us if we don't pay attention and mum's not around to regulate."

"I haven't got a sensitive constitution," Scorpius said, frowning. "I just…can't eat too many sweets all at once, is all. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Of course there isn't," Albus said quickly. "Anyway, our gran sent sandwiches, if you want something to eat that isn't sweets. I can run back and get them from our trunks. I think there's some corned beef, maybe some turkey…"

"Oh that's not necessary," Scorpius said, "but thank you. No, my parents sent along plenty of snacks for the train ride. I'd be happy to share, if you want any—er, if you don't mind helping me get my trunk down again so I can get them out, that is…?"

Rose and Albus helped him wrestle the heavy trunk out of the luggage rack—Rose had a feeling that she did most of the work, as the tallest—a procedure that wasn't helped much by Snidget insisting on sitting on top of the lid and meowing at them the whole time. When it was finally down Rose said, "I vote we just leave it there rather than putting it back up again. There's plenty of room in here with just the three of us, it won't be in the way." She was also thinking that if they left the trunk on the floor then when she and Albus decided to leave and go rejoin Dom and her friends, they wouldn't have to feel guilty about leaving Scorpius in the lurch—or at least, Albus wouldn't have to feel guilty; Rose didn't see any reason why she ought to feel guilty that somebody else had been foolish enough to pack so much in their trunk that they couldn't lift it by themselves. That wasn't _her_ fault. Still, at least this way the only trouble Scorpius was likely to have from his trunk after they left would be if he tripped over it.

Now he crouched down in front of the thing and lifted his kitten to his shoulder, where it dug its claws into his fancy robes and purred happily. He drew his wand from his pocket and tapped the lock on his trunk three times before it popped open. Rose didn't bother to restrain a snort; who bothered to put a magical locking spell on their school trunk? Scorpius didn't seem to hear her, or if he did he pretended not to because he said nothing, just pulled out a long, thin basket with a lid held on by leather straps. He closed the lid of the trunk and set the basket on top, turning his luggage into a makeshift table.

"Help yourselves," he said, revealing a meticulously-packed assortment of breads, cheeses, fruits, and pastries that looked more savory than sweet. The baked goods looked fancy enough that Rose assumed they had been purchased from a professional bakery, and half the cheeses she couldn't recognize by sight. Even some of the fruit looked unfamiliar, but she told herself that was probably just because it had all been cut-up already into bite-sized pieces for easier eating.

"Ooh, brilliant!" said Albus and reached for a handful.

Rose's stomach rumbled and she had to begrudgingly admit that it did look tasty, although she would have been perfectly happy to munch on nothing but Cauldron Cakes and Licorice Wands and Bertie Bott's Beans all the way to Hogwarts. Fortunately nobody forced Rose to confess that their trolley-bought lunch had been improved by the occasional slice of mango or wedge of brie so she could enjoy the feast with a mostly-clear conscience.

She had figured that as soon as they were done eating she'd find a way to hint to Albus that it was time to head back, but somehow over the next few hours she never got around to broaching the subject. Before she'd realized how much time had passed, the view outside the window had gone dark and the lights had come on all around the train, and suddenly there was a soft squealing sound of metal-on-metal and Rose could feel the Hogwarts Express slowing down.

"Albus—our trunks!" Rose cried, jumping to her feet. "We aren't even changed yet! Oh no! We have to hurry, come on!"

She practically dragged him out of the compartment, both of them tossing-off rushed waves and assurances over their shoulders that they would see Scorpius inside the castle, surely, and it was nice to meet you… "It was a pleasure to meet you both, too!" Scorpius called after them, sounding a little forlorn.

Rose hustled Albus down the hallway as fast as they could go without falling, although she banged her elbows against the walls twice. Then they were back in their original compartment, Dominique and her friends laughing at them and helping them pull their robes on over their heads—they were all dressed in their uniforms already—and settle their hats and shove everything else back into the trunks. "Don't worry," Dominique told them both, "somebody else will be along to get your things, they don't make first years carry anything. You don't come to the school the same way the rest of us do." Rose tried to tell her that she knew that, she'd read all about the boats and the graduation ceremony and everything in _Hogwarts, A History_ , but the train had stopped by then and all the Ravenclaws were grabbing their trunks and their pets and shoving their way out into the hallway and Dominique was carried away by the press of the crowd. Rose was still fumbling with the last button on her robe when she and Albus stumbled down the steps and onto the Hogsmeade platform. They looked around wildly, trying to find a sign or direction in the chaos of black robes and shouting bodies and then they heard a familiar voice calling, "Firs' years over here! Firs' years this way!" and there was Hagrid's big, hairy face looming up over the heads of the crowd and Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

"Come on," she said to Albus, and they hurried to join the other first years. They all looked frightened, but Rose was smiling again, excitement building up from her toes in a pleasant buzz that warmed her right to the tips of her ears. Beyond Hagrid she saw the lake, and the boats, and beyond that…

The castle. They had reached Hogwarts at last.


	2. The Sorting Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will not be happening with this speed ordinarily! It's just that I wrote the whole beginning sequence with the train ride and the Sorting Hat all together, and figured that since the previous chapter was mostly prologue, I should go ahead and post the Sorting Ceremony promptly -- because it's not just our first years who are eager to find out how that's going to go, is it?

Hagrid was illuminated by the lamp he held in one enormous hand—although even without the light he would have been hard to miss. He looked down at the first years and his black eyes twinkled warmly. “All righ’ there, Albus? Rose?” he asked, and Albus beamed.

“Hello Hagrid,” he said, and for a moment his nerves were all gone. It was practically impossible to feel worried about anything when Hagrid was around (at least as long as he didn’t have any of his large, dangerous, and not-terribly-misunderstood creatures with him).

Hagrid patted Albus on the shoulder, almost knocking him down. Rose helped pull him back to his feet. “Righ’ then, go on inter the boats!” Hagrid said to the crowd at large, his booming voice making several of the more skittish-looking first years flinch. He leaned over and gave Albus and Rose a large, completely unsubtle wink, and dropped his voice to what he probably thought was a stealthy whisper. “I’ll see yeh both inside,” he said. “Gotta get this lot over the lake firs’ yeh know.”

“Right,” Albus said, and grinned.

“We’ll see you soon,” Rose said, and together the two of them led the way down to the boats that Albus had been waiting to see for almost as long as he could remember. His stomach felt like it had grown wings and elation bubbled-up inside him. He knew he was smiling like a loon but he couldn’t stop himself; he was too excited. Finally, Hogwarts…

Rose jumped into the first of the boats and Albus followed. He looked around for Scorpius but he couldn’t spot the blond boy over the heads of the other first years. Two people Albus didn’t know climbed into the boat with them: an Indian boy with floppy black hair and brown skin a shade darker than Albus’s and a white girl with a suntanned face and a long blond braid.

They both looked nervous and the boy gripped the gunwale tight enough to make his knuckles go pale. “Don’t worry,” Albus said reassuringly, his own anxieties momentarily forgotten in the combination of Hagrid’s familiar, reassuring presence and the excitement of finally being here at last. “Hagrid will get us there fine. He does this every year.”

“I’m not worried,” the boy said, yanking his hands back and flattening them against his thighs.

“What’s to worry about?” the girl muttered darkly, “It’s just a boat trip across a freezing cold lake in the dark with no oars or rudders or engine or even lifejackets.”

“The boat ride across the Black Lake has been a tradition at Hogwarts for over a thousand years,” Rose said, her voice rising at it always did when she was showing-off something she knew that other people didn’t, “and has only been cancelled three times according to the records, one of which was due to the Giant Squid catching a rather severe cold that resulted in uncontrolled bursts of ink-expulsion and—“

“Giant _Squid?_ ” the girl demanded.

Rose looked miffed at being interrupted mid-oration so Albus said, “Yep! Giant Squid.” He smirked. “Lives in the Black Lake. If you lean over the side of the boat and wave you might see it.”

The boy edged away from the edge of the boat but the girl, her face gone a sickly shade of khaki, peeked over the side. Albus wasn’t sure if she was hoping to see the squid or hoping _not_ to. Her braid swung forward and hit the water with a splash and she jerked back with an annoyed squeak.

Albus bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Nobody spoke for the rest of the ride. Nerves started to churn in Albus’s stomach again as they drew closer, Hogwarts looming in front of them like some dark, light-speckled shape rising out of fog and legend. Albus had to crane his neck to keep his eyes on the great, shadowy castle as the boats glided in closer and closer to the cliff on which it stood. Theirs was the first to reach the rough rocks; Hagrid shouted, “Heads down!” as they drew near.

All four of them ducked, Rose hunching in so low she practically bent double over her own knees—Albus would have pointed-out that she wasn’t _that_ tall, but he was too overwhelmed to speak at the moment—and then it was his turn to grab nervously at the gunwales as they reached the cliff and kept going. Albus braced for the impact but the boat proceeded without impediment, brushing through a curtain of ivy that had concealed the opening in the cliff through which they now sailed.

Albus heaved a deep breath of relief and sat up, staring around even though there was little to see; they were in a dark tunnel and he had to trust that the enchanted boat knew the path and wouldn’t dash them to bits against the rocky walls. The tunnel seemed to be carrying them right under the castle, although it was hard to tell in the dark. Eventually it widened out into a large, underground cavern. There was enough light there to see by, although Albus wasn’t sure where it was coming from; maybe someone had spelled the rocks themselves to glow.

Their little boat fetched-up on the shore of the natural-looking harbor with a scraping sound as wood grated on rock. Rose was the first one out of the boat, followed quickly by Albus and the other boy; the girl with the wet braid got out slowly, turning around and around as though she couldn’t get enough of the sight. Albus had to yank her out of the way of another boat that beached itself right where she had been circling. “Thanks,” she said, her voice distracted.

“No problem,” said Albus, although he didn’t think she heard him.

He took another look around for Scorpius and then it was Rose’s turn to drag _him_ along as Hagrid led the way up a steep passageway in the rock. Albus wondered absently what they did about students who couldn’t climb—did Hagrid carry them? Was there some kind of levitating elevator?—but then he emerged into the open air right in the shadow of the castle and forgot what he had been thinking about. His heart was beating high in his throat again as he tripped up the wide stone steps that led to the gigantic oak doors.

“Everyone still ‘ere?” Hagrid asked, looking around at the cluster of nervous students. “Everyone got everythin’? All righ’ then.” He turned and knocked on the door, hard thuds that made several people jump or squeak.

The door opened on the second knock. An elderly black witch looked out at them from narrow, glittering brown eyes. She wore dark goldenrod-yellow robes and a tall, pointed purple hat. Coarse gray curls peeked from under the brim but that friendly, humanizing detail was off-set by the long, pale scar that curled across her cheek. Albus gulped and several other first years shrank back along the steps.

“The firs’ years, Professor Avery,” said Hagrid in a cheerful voice.

“Thank you, Rubeus,” said the witch in a crisp, warm voice. “If you will all follow me, students?”

She didn’t wait for them to answer but swept away across the entrance hall, trusting that they would follow. Albus didn’t dare do anything else and from the way the other first years bunched together as they shuffled along in her wake, he figured he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

They trailed her through the huge, torch-lit hall toward a grand marble staircase but before she reached it, Professor Avery led them off to the side of the hall and into a small, empty chamber. They filed-in and clustered together much closer than the confines of the room necessitated. Albus couldn’t stop peeking between the castle and the intimidating witch; he noticed a number of other heads turning this way and that, although Rose’s gaze was fixed on Professor Avery.

She turned to face them and when she smiled, she suddenly looked friendly despite the stern brows and fearsome scar. “Welcome to Hogwarts, all of you. I’m sure most of you know a great deal about the school already, but for those who do not—and for those whose knowledge may be more tainted by rumor than fact—bear with me for a quick explanation, please.” Albus was distracted by the distant, muffled sound of many voices raised in unintelligible conversation; he looked around for the source until he caught Professor Avery’s eye. She had one eyebrow raised and was giving him a very hard look.

Albus swallowed, hunched his shoulders, and sidled closer to Rose.

Professor Avery blinked at him once, then smiled thinly at the rest of the students and continued: “Here at Hogwarts students are sorted into one of four houses. You will share a dormitory with your House, a common room, and classes. In a way, your House will serve the role of a family while you are here at school. You can earn points for your House, while any transgressions will lose your House points. At the end of the year the House Cup will be awarded to the House with the most points, so I suggest you all make an effort to earn more points than you lose as you may find that you earn the ire of your housemates if you do not.

“The four Houses are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Each House stretches back to the founding of the school and honors one of the four original Founders of Hogwarts. Before you can take your seats in the Great Hall, you must be sorted into the House which will be your home here. This is a long tradition and each House has an equally long and storied history, and has produced great witches and wizards. I hope each of you will prove a credit to the future traditions and triumphs of your House, wherever you may be sorted, and that you do nothing to disgrace your House’s noble name.”

Someone in the back of the crowd muttered something but Albus couldn’t tell what; all he saw was Professor Avery’s eyes narrow as they fixed on a point somewhere behind him and the muttering went quiet abruptly. She cleared her throat and went on briskly, “In a moment I will return to fetch you for the Sorting Ceremony. Try not to do anything disruptive until I get back, if you can.”

She gave them a sharp nod and swept away in a swirl of yellow fabric. All of Albus’s nerves came back with a vengeance and he thought he might be sick. He wondered if there was a lavatory somewhere nearby, just in case.

“What kind of ceremony?” someone asked.

It was a girl, shorter than Albus, with watery hazel eyes and frizzy dirty-blonde hair held back by a thick headband. Her round cheeks were dusted with a light coating of freckles that Albus figured would be hard to see under ordinary circumstances; as pale as she was right now, though, they almost seemed to be floating off her skin.

“It’s nothing awful,” Albus assured her, although right now it seemed like the most awful thing in the world. “It’s just a—a hat, a magical hat I mean, and you wear it and it…it figures out where you ought to go, kind of.”

The girl—she had to be a Muggle-born Albus figured, to know nothing at all about the Sorting—raised her eyebrows skeptically but before she could ask another question the door opened again and Professor Avery retuned. Everyone fell silent immediately. “We’re all ready for you now,” she told the first years. “Form a single-file line and follow me.”

“Here we go!” Rose whispered, her face split in a broad, beaming smile. Her blue eyes blazed with excitement and she grabbed his hand, giving it a hard squeeze. Albus managed to smile back at her but he didn’t speak; he was afraid that if he did, he might throw-up.

Fortunately he didn’t have to think of anything to say because they had to separate to follow Professor Avery into the Great Hall with the rest of the first year students.

It was even more magnificent than Albus had imagined: the large room held four long tables at which the older students sat, no doubt divided into their Houses already. Gleaming golden plates and goblets lay on the tables but they were empty at the moment. A fifth long table stood perpendicular to the student tables at the end of the hall; the teachers sat there. Albus spotted Hagrid’s unmistakable bulk at one end. He looked away, afraid that if he met Hagrid’s eyes now he might embarrass himself by crying. Looking overhead, he saw thousands of floating candles and beyond them a sky—he knew it was only the ceiling, enchanted to mimic the sky outside, but it _looked_ like a real sky—filled with stars.

He tripped on Rose’s heels and pulled his eyes away from ceiling. The line of first years stopped along the staff table in front of the other students, their backs to the teachers. Albus wanted to turn around and look for Uncle Neville but he was afraid that that would make him cry, too. He swallowed hard and dug the nails of his fingers into his palms, trying to get a grip on himself. Being stared at by all of the second through seventh year students didn’t help; Albus knew that almost nobody would be looking at him specifically, but he still felt very much an animal on display at a zoo. He tried to keep his gaze fixed over their heads and very deliberately did _not_ try and find James in the crowd.

Professor Avery sat a four-legged stool in front of the first years and placed an old, patched, battered hat on top of the stool. It looked extremely dirty which surprised Albus; knowing how important the Sorting Hat was, he had expected something gorgeous and well cared-for, but this hat looked like it had been fished out of a dumpster behind a secondhand clothing store where it had been tossed because nobody had wanted to buy it.

Everyone was staring at the hat as though waiting for it to do something miraculous. Albus just wished it would get it over with, whatever it was. Then suddenly a large rip near the brim opened and the hat began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_  
_But don’t judge on what you see._  
_The years go by and things all change,_  
_Except of course for me._  
_I stay and sort, divide the school;_  
_I see all your fears and dreams._

_So perhaps you’ll go to Slytherin,_  
_to follow clever schemes._  
_Or maybe it’s to Gryffindor,_  
_I’ll send you if you dare._  
_And Hufflepuff is nice as well,_  
_for those strong enough to care._  
_Or then again there’s Ravenclaw,_  
_Where wit becomes fine art._

_Each house you go, remember all,_  
_Though I move you now apart,_  
_Still there’s purpose that unites us—_  
_So make new friends, but keep the old,_  
_And learn all that you can find._  
_But before you do—come wear a hat!_  
_Through me you’ll know your mind._

_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_  
_And don’t get in a flap!_  
_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_  
_For I’m a Thinking Cap!”_

 Everyone applauded when it finished although Albus could barely feel his palms hitting one another by this point, he had gone so numb with nerves. He stared at the hat as it bowed smugly to the four House tables and then went still once more. Albus felt like he had swallowed an entire basketful of ice mice whole and they were trying to climb back out of his stomach.

Professor Avery stepped up next to the stool and unfurled a long scroll. “Come forward when your name is called,” she commanded the first years. “Then sit on the stool and put on the hat, and you will be sorted.” She cleared her throat and called, “Avery, Vihaan!”

The boy who had shared Albus and Rose’s boat on the ride to the school walked forward. He glanced up at the yellow-clad professor and raised his chin, almost defiantly, then hopped onto the stool. He pulled the hat over his head; it slipped down all the way over his eyes and for a moment nobody in the Great Hall moved. Then the hat’s rip opened again and—

“GRYFFINDOR!” it shouted.

The table on the right clapped and somebody wolf-whistled as Vihaan walked over to join them. A ghost with a thick ruff around his neck—that had to be Nearly-Headless Nick, Albus realized—waved the boy over to an empty seat on the bench across from him.

Albus felt worse than ever, his nerves now swamped by an ugly wave of jealousy for Vihaan.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it because Professor Avery—and Albus realized suddenly that she had the same name as the boy who had just been sorted; he wondered if they were related—she was already calling the next name: “Bhaati, Kavita.”

A girl with long, loose hair and dark brown skin trotted up to the stool, pulled on the hat, and started to sit down, but she had barely sunken onto the seat when the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” again.

Looking a little startled, probably at the speed of her sorting, Kavita reversed direction and rose back to her feet with an easy grace that Albus envied—but not at much as he envied her new House. The other Gryffindors erupted with cheers for her and Albus felt his heart sinking toward his shoes.

The next student—“Boot, Agnes!”—went to Ravenclaw, to that House’s delight. After her was “Brennan, Niamh,” who became the first Hufflepuff. Both girls looked delighted with their placement and Albus couldn’t help but envy them too, although not as much as he did Vihaan and Kavita.

“Floyd, Carter,” was next, and Albus stared at him hard after he was sorted because Floyd became the first of the new Slytherins. He was a short, chubby black boy who greeted his sorting with a cheerful smile. If he was worried about Slytherin’s reputation, he didn’t show it. Albus turned his attention to the table that was cheering for Floyd; they didn’t look much different from any of the other students as far as he could tell, but he sensed a malevolent, malicious vibe coming from the group. He wondered if that was just his imagination.

Distracted as he was with studying the Slytherin table, Albus missed the next several names that were called. When he came back to the present with a start, people were clapping for Elladora Fawley and Professor Avery had just called for, “Granger-Wealsey, Rose.”

Albus’s favorite cousin and best friend took a deep breath, squeezed his hand, squared her shoulders, and walked forward. “Good luck,” Albus whispered, but he didn’t think she heard him.

Rose sat down stiffly on the stood and lowered the Sorting Hat over her bright red curls. Her hands were trembling but Albus didn’t think anybody but he noticed. The hat sat there for a while, silent and motionless. Albus could feel himself sweating and fought the urge to wipe his forehead; he didn’t want anybody to think he was nervous on Rose’s behalf, although he was. He and she both knew—at least, he was _pretty_ sure that Rose _mostly_ knew—that her dad had been joking about disowning her if she wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor, but when Professor Avery had called her name she had for the first time looked almost as nervous as Albus felt.

He wondered what was going through her mind right now. He wondered what was taking the Sorting Hat so long. He wondered if he should have told Rose what his dad had told him, about the hat letting people choose…he wondered if his dad had been telling the truth.

Finally, after what felt like several days but was probably only three or four minutes, the Sorting Hat’s brim opened again and it shouted, “RAVENCLAW!”

The Ravenclaw table burst into wild applause. Someone at the Gryffindor table, probably James, groaned loudly. Albus could hear Dominique shouting over everybody else and he looked over to see her fist pumping the air. Victoire and Louis were more restrained in their welcome, although Vicky had hopped to her feet and they were both clapping enthusiastically. Whether because their housemates were excited to have a Granger-Weasley in their midst or because they just couldn’t help but follow the three Weasley cousins’ lead, the Ravenclaws gave Rose the loudest cheer of the night so far. Blushing furiously, she walked over to join them. There was a broad, anxious smile on her face, and Albus relaxed slightly on her behalf; Rose looked happy about her sorting and that was the most important thing.

When “Hitchens, Sarah,” was called and the girl who had asked about the Sorting Ceremony stepped forward, stumbling against Albus’s side in the process, his nerves came back full-force however, because she was sent to Slytherin. So was the next student, a short girl with large glasses named Suellen Howell. She stomped over to the table with her brow furrowed in a surly frown but from the way she exchanged handshakes with her new housemates once she got there, Albus suspected that that was just her face’s natural position and not a reflection of her feelings about Slytherin House.

He wished he shared her opinion.

“Hussain, Phineas,” was the next student called. His hair was cropped close to his rich brown skin and his smile was a nervous flicker but when the hat touched his head it paused barely a moment before shouting, “HUFFLEPUFF!” Phineas trotted over happily to his new housemates while Professor Avery called “Jones, Millicent!” to the stool.

A finger poked Albus in the side and he turned with a start to see Scorpius standing beside him. The blond boy looked worse than he had on the train, his face waxy and his smile more curdled than curled. Albus knew exactly how he felt.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” said Scorpius. His voice squeaked a little.

“Almost time,” Albus said, with a nod toward the Sorting Hat that was being lifted from Najiyah Khan’s head after sending her to Gryffindor and making Albus’s stomach sink a little more. His voice was hoarse but Scorpius didn’t comment, probably because he was at least as anxious as Albus, maybe more. His fingers were trembling even though he had laced them together hard enough to bleach his knuckles white.

“Yes,” he whispered, and swayed a little. “Are you—are you scared?”

“Petrified,” Albus whispered back, and Scorpius’s lips twitched briefly into a tremulous, relieved smile.

“Me too,” he said. “What will you—what will you do if—?”

He didn’t have to specify _if what;_ Albus knew. He had to swallow twice before he could speak. “Suck it up, I guess?” he said. “There’s no choice, is there? It’s not like I can transfer to a different school and try again.”

“No.” Scorpius looked disappointed. “No, I suppose not.”

Albus managed a grim smile—gallows humor, his Uncle George would have called it—and joked, “I mean, I’ll obviously despise myself for the rest of my life, but I’ll suck it up.” It wasn’t until he finished speaking that Albus wondered how much he had really been joking.

Scorpius gave a watery little laugh but he didn’t look comforted by Albus’s attempt at comedy. If anything, he looked paler, and Albus hadn’t thought that it was possible for the other boy’s face to drain of any more blood without it resulting in death by exsanguination.

His gray eyes flicked past Albus to the stool when “Colette, Macmillan,” was called up; they both watched in silence as the stout, grinning blond was sent to Hufflepuff.

“Good luck,” Albus whispered, impulsively giving Scorpius’s shoulder a squeeze.

“You too,” Scorpius said, his voice barely a croak.

“My dad,” Albus said quickly, “my dad said you can ask—”

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

Albus watched as Scorpius took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, thrust his chin out, and sauntered forward with all the appearance of confidence that Albus was certain he didn’t really feel. He did a decent job of faking it though, Albus thought; if you didn’t look too closely at how wide his eyes were or how white his knuckles went when he gripped the brim of the hat, you’d never know he was terrified. Scorpius sat down, lowered the hat slowly over his head, and waited.

For a long time nothing happened. Eventually people started to murmur and fidget. Little patches of whispers broke out all over the Great Hall as students leaned across the tables toward one another. People kept glancing between the boy on the stool and their wristwatches.

Scorpius had tucked his hands inside the sleeves of his robe which Albus thought was probably a good thing; they were surely shaking by now, but concealed as they were by the loose fabric, nobody could tell. Albus didn’t realize that he was holding his breath until his lungs started burning; he let the breath go with a _woosh_ , coughed, and held it again. Had something gone wrong? Was the hat worn out, or broken? How long were they all going to just sit there before somebody went to investigate?

A current of excitement that Albus didn’t understand started to build through the Great Hall. More and more people were pulling out watches or leaning over to stare at their neighbor’s. Looking over his shoulder at the staff table, Albus saw that several of the teachers were leaning forward or looking at watches of their own. He didn’t understand what was going on; was the hat on a time limit? What would happen if time ran out before it had made an announcement? Would they send Scorpius home?

A fist of ice clenched tight in Albus’s gut. He had been so worried about being sorted into Slytherin that it hadn’t even occurred to him to worry about not being sorted _at all_ —but that was ridiculous; he knew he wasn’t a Squib, he’d done magic before. Besides, Squibs didn’t get letters to Hogwarts. Somehow whatever magic kept track of new wix could tell when someone had enough magic in their blood to be able to use it and when they were nothing but a carrier; no Squib had ever come to Hogwarts as far as Albus knew, although if Rose had still been standing beside him he would have checked with her. After all, _he_ hadn’t read through _Hogwarts, A History_ four times.

Finally, just when Albus thought he was going to burst from the tension, the hat’s brim opened. “SLYTHERIN!” it shouted, and Albus felt his knees go watery in relief. He let out a heavy sigh and straightened-up in time to return the wild, shaky grin that Scorpius threw his way before staggering over to join his new housemates. Albus clapped as loud as anyone in the Great Hall.

Several people weren’t clapping at all, though; they were pointing at their watches and talking excitedly to one another. One word was repeated over and over: “Hatstall!” everybody was saying. For a moment, Albus didn’t recognize the phrase—then he remembered. A hatstall was someone whose sorting took over five minutes, which was extremely uncommon. Albus didn’t know when the last time was there had been one, but he was sure Rose would be able to tell him later.

Professor Avery didn’t seem impressed; without missing a beat, she called, “Moon, Seo-yeon!” and a short girl with two small black buns on her head walked up to the stool. She smiled vaguely out at the whispering, distracted students and dropped the hat over her head. It only sat there for half a minute before calling out, “RAVENCLAW!”

The applause for Seo-yeon was staggered but sincere, people nudging their neighbors to remind them that the Sorting Ceremony wasn’t over yet. All across the Great Hall people were shoving their watches back into the pockets of their robes and bringing their hands together in belated congratulations for the newest Ravenclaw. She wafted to her tabled more than she walked, apparently unperturbed by the lackluster welcome.

The boy after her went to Ravenclaw as well and then the girl who had shared a boat with Albus and Rose, her long braid still damp, was sent to Gryffindor. Albus scowled; he didn’t think it was fair that _both_ of the students who had ridden over the lake with he and Rose had gotten to go where he wanted. He wondered with a sudden, desperate hope if that was a good sign for him—but Rose had gone to Ravenclaw instead, so maybe it meant nothing.

Albus watched dully as “Oshiro, Haru!” was sent to Slytherin. He was a handsome boy with wavy black hair, a stubby right hand, and a bright and happy smile. Albus glared daggers at him.

When the next student was called—“Palmer, Katherine!”—Albus’s hands started to sweat. They had reached the P’s; that meant he was going to be called any moment now. He stared hard at Katherine, a plump girl who donned the Sorting Hat with envious unconcern. When she skipped off happily to join the Hufflepuff table after only a few seconds of deliberation Albus felt a wave of hot, bitter hatred for her; he wasn’t ready to walk up to the stool yet and she hadn’t given him enough time to get prepared.

Professor Avery was already calling his name, though, so Albus had no choice but to walk over to the stool where his doom waited for him. He took a deep breath, picked up the hat, and sat down. It was hard to lower the ragged, patched thing onto his head. The faces of the watching students swam before him in a sickening kaleidoscope; he looked for Rose, looked for Scorpius, couldn’t find them. He took another deep breath and let the hat slip down over his eyes.

“Interesting,” a small voice said inside Albus’s head. He gripped the sides of the stool hard and stared into the black nothingness of the hat’s interior. “Another Potter, eh? Not the same mold as the last one, though, not by any stretch…”

 _I could still go to the same house, though,_ Albus thought hopefully. _There are lots of people who’ve been in Gryffindor who aren’t anything like James._

The voice chuckled. “Got a hero complex, do you?” it asked him. “Want to save the world like your parents, is that it? Prove your courage, your mettle?”

Albus frowned. That sounded so petty, was that really what he’d meant? He started to shake his head, remembered that everybody was watching him, and sat still again. “No,” he whispered very quietly. “I mean…”

But he wasn’t sure _what_ he meant. He just knew that he didn’t want to disappoint his family. He wanted to make them proud, wanted to show them and everyone else that he was worthy of being the son of people like his mum and dad. Wanted to prove that he resembled his dad in more than just looks. Wanted to show that he was good enough to be a Weasley and a Potter, that he _belonged_. He didn’t just want to convince everybody else either; he wanted to convince _himself._

“Not a bad goal as far as ambitions go,” the small voice said. “Yes, you should do quite well in SLYTHERIN!”

Albus heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall.

He didn’t hear anything after that because of the rushing in his ears. He felt like someone had just shoved him into an icy waterfall and the roar of the water tumbling past was all he could hear. Moving on autopilot, his hands and face numb, Albus lifted the hat from his head and shoved it blindly into Professor Avery’s arms. He stared out at the blur of faces.

A few stood-out to him: Rose, her brow furrowed with concern; James, his mouth slack with shock; Scorpius, his broad smile fading to a small circle of horror; Victoire, looking surprised, but standing up and leading her housemates in a firm, fierce torrent of applause that Albus couldn’t hear.

He staggered stiff-legged to the Slytherin table. He didn’t know if they were clapping for him or not; he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He collapsed onto the bench next to Scorpius who grabbed him by the shoulder and spoke a long string of quiet, intense words into Albus’s ear; he couldn’t hear them either. It felt like a great, yawning pit had opened up under his feet and his head spun wickedly.

 _I’m in Slytherin…I’m in Slytherin_ , he thought, over and over, the words echoing numbly inside his head in a very different voice from the Sorting Hat’s. _James was right…I’m in Slytherin._

Fortunately his whole body was stiff and frozen; otherwise he might indeed have thrown-up.

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat shouted again, and Albus flinched. He’d missed the name of the student called up after him; whoever he was, he looked pleased enough to be following Albus, smiling broadly as he accepted the handshakes and congratulations of his housemates. Albus couldn’t remember shaking anyone’s hand; he looked down at his numb, trembling fingers and wondered if he would have noticed if he had.

“Rosethorn, Tamara!” was called up next, a tall black girl whose pigtails stuck out from under the hat’s brim like two fat pompoms. She went to Slytherin too and Albus felt a flash of wild, illogical hope; maybe the hat had gotten stuck and the last three sortings were all invalid. Maybe it would have to do them all again…

But then “Runcorn, Arcturus!” went to Gryffindor and Albus’s heart dropped back into that dark, cold pit. He watched the rest of the Sorting Ceremony through bleary eyes, hardly noticing the parade of students. After each name was called—“Shafiq!” “Singh!” “Spencer!” “Stebbins!” “Stebbins!”—he applauded dutifully but his hands felt thick and alien, like they belonged to someone else; the feeling reminded him of the time he had gone to Aunt Hermione’s parents to have a cavity filled and they had numbed his mouth with novocain. He wondered if anybody made novocain that worked on shattered hearts.

The sorting finished at last—“Stewart!” “Taylor!” “Thomas-Finnigan!” “Willis!”—and Professor Avery took the stool and the terrible, awful Sorting Hat away. Albus’s stomach lurched; if the ceremony was over then that meant that it was all real, that there hadn’t been some kind of glitch, that nobody was going to stop and fix things. It meant that he was really, truly in Slytherin.


	3. The First Night

The headmaster stood up and Albus turned to look at the High Table. Hagrid was sitting at the far end, too far away for Albus to catch his eye which was just as well; he didn’t want to know what Hagrid’s expression looked like right now. Uncle Neville was closer, nearer the middle of the table, and Albus looked down at his empty plate rather than risk meeting his gaze. He didn’t try to look for Aunt Hannah at all. For the first time the thought of having so many people he knew teaching at Hogwarts School seemed terrible. How was Albus going to face any of them?

Dimly he realized that Headmaster Flitwick was speaking. Albus forced himself to listen. “—to have you all here!” Flitwick was saying. He was a tiny, elderly man with a squeaky voice. In order to make himself seen by the students he was standing on his chair, not the floor, but the smile he turned on all of them was large and warm. “Now don’t worry, I know it’s been a long journey to get here and you’re all far too hungry to listen to long speeches now, so I won’t give one!” Several people chuckled; Albus didn’t think he’d ever feel like laughing again. “Instead, please fill your bellies and we’ll talk more once those all stop grumbling!”  He clapped his hands together three times very fast and sat back down, still smiling.

All over the Great Hall the platters and jugs had filled with food and drink. Albus looked around at the steaming, heaping dishes of roast beef, roast chicken, roast apples, cubed cheese, sausages, pork chops and lamb chops, chickpeas, carrots, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, green curry, yellow curry, red curry, pumpkin curry, Yorkshire pudding, gravy, ketchup—there were even roasted brussel sprouts, ordinarily a favorite of Albus’s, but right now the sight of so much good food make his stomach turn.

Around him the other students—the other Slytherins—were piling their plates high and pouring themselves goblets of cold pumpkin juice. Albus decided to start with some of that, reasoning that a cool drink might help him feel better and he knew he had to eat _something_. The snacks on the train had been a long time ago and if he hadn’t been shaking with nerves all evening he would probably have been ravenous by now.

There was one other Slytherin who wasn’t stuffing his face yet: Scorpius, who leaned in close so he could whisper in Albus’s ear, “Are you all right?”

Albus mustered-up a smile but he knew it wasn’t a very _good_ smile. “Sure,” he said. “I’m great.”

The look Scorpius gave him might generously have been described as dubious but he didn’t say anything else, perhaps not wanting to talk about it in front of other people. Albus was glad; he didn’t want to talk about it at all.

To give himself something else to do he reached for the nearest platter and dumped a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. Scorpius didn’t stop frowning, or staring at Albus, but he did grudgingly start dishing out his own dinner. Albus felt badly for ruining what should have been a moment of celebration for the other boy but he didn’t know what to say to make it better that wouldn’t have been a lie. Instead he stuffed a forkful of potatoes into his mouth and chewed mechanically. They tasted like sawdust—or at least, what he assumed sawdust tasted like: soft, flavorless, thick, and grainy. He tried some red curry next, hoping that the spiciness would be able to cut through the haze of cotton wool it felt like he was wrapped in, but it was the blandest curry he had ever eaten. From the way everyone else was talking about the feast—and enthusiastically gobbling it down—Albus figured that the food tasted a lot better to them than it did to him.

_I’m in Slytherin,_ the horrified voice said again inside his head. _I’m in Slytherin_.

Another voice echoed after it: _“Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won’t it? It doesn’t matter to us, Al.”_ His dad’s words, spoken to Albus just before he’d gotten on the train. He’d known they had just been meant to reassure him, had known that his dad couldn’t _really_ have thought that he would be sorted into Slytherin—could he have? The rest of what he’d told Albus—that if it really mattered to _him_ he would be able to _choose_ otherwise—had turned out to be untrue. How much else had dad been making up?

Albus had never really thought about his name before; it was just his name, that was all. Oh, he knew he was named for other people, all three of them had been—James and Lily and him. But he hadn’t known the previous James or Lily or Albus. The only one of their names that had come from somebody who was still alive was Lily’s middle name, Luna, after one of Albus’s favorite almost-aunts. He’d never spent a lot of time thinking about the people whose names he bore—but suddenly he felt the urge to know more about one of them. _The bravest man dad ever knew, huh?_ _Well dad fought in a war, that’s not exactly a low bar to clear…_

A commotion down the table distracted Albus from his thoughts.

“You did that on purpose!” a girl shouted. “I saw you, you did that on purpose!” She was a short, skinny white girl with thin brown hair. Right now her cheeks were pink with rage or embarrassment and her slanting brows had wrinkled into an angry frown. She was pointing across the table at the girl who had asked Albus about the Sorting Ceremony.

Sarah Hitchens blinked rapidly as she stared at the angry brunette. “No I didn’t,” she said, sounding bewildered. She’d paused in her attempts to mop-up a toppled goblet of pumpkin juice in order to respond to the other girl’s accusation and now sat, frozen, juice dripping from the serviette clutched forgotten in her hand.

“You did, you did,” the brown-haired girl insisted, “I saw you knock it over!”

“I know I knocked it over,” Sarah said, drawing in on herself, “but it was an accident.” She pointed at the burly, older boy who was sitting next to her; he ignored both the two girls and the puddle of juice. “I was reaching for the rice and I bumped into—”

“You did it on purpose!”

“Oh shut-it,” snapped the girl sitting next to Sarah, the grumpy-looking one who had been sorted right after her. Suellen Howell glared daggers across the table, her scowl magnified by her large round glasses. “You’re just causing a scene because you don’t want people laughing at _you_ for not being quick enough to get out of the way.”

“I’ve got pumpkin juice all over me!” the brown-haired girl shrieked.

“Yes,” Suellen said, smirking, “it makes you look like an idiot. But maybe we shouldn’t blame the juice.”

A few people chuckled; the brown-haired girl’s face went red. “How dare you?” she gasped.

Suellen shrugged. “If you don’t want people laughing at you, don’t draw attention to yourself,” she retorted. “Nobody would have even noticed if you hadn’t started squawking.”

“It’s okay,” Sarah murmured, “it was my fault…”

“No,” Suellen said firmly, “it was an accident. And you apologized like four times. She just didn’t want to listen because she’s a brat.”

“How dare you?” the angry girl said again. She wrinkled her sharp, upturned nose. “Do you know who I am?”

“Nope,” said Suellen, “but I bet you’re about to tell me.”

“My father works at the Ministry! You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Oooh, big deal.” Suellen rolled her eyes. “Your dad works at the Ministry, wow, I bet you’re the _only_ person at this whole table who can say that. Hey, you know who I bet your dad _isn’t?_ The Minister of Magic. So why don’t you get off your high horse and dry yourself off?”

Albus couldn’t help it; he laughed.

All three girls turned to look at him. So did several of the other people who had been watching the fuss. Albus felt his face get hot and hoped that nobody could tell that he was blushing.

“You think this is funny, do you?” the angry girl demanded.

Albus shrank in on himself, wishing Rose were here next to him. “Well…” he said, and shrugged.

“He did laugh,” Scorpius pointed-out, when it seemed that Albus had nothing else to say. “It’s probably a fair assessment.”

“What do you know about it?” the girl snapped, rounding on him.

Scorpius shrugged. “Well, it occurs to me that if _he_ isn’t harping-on about who _his_ dad is, maybe you ought to give it a rest about yours?” he suggested lightly.

Several people tittered. The brown-haired girl’s face went even redder. Suellen laughed out loud.

“You’re all horrible,” the angry girl told them, and climbed off the bench to go find another seat. She held her robes out in front of her as she walked. Albus couldn’t see where the pumpkin juice had spilled—one of the nice things about a uniform that was all black, he realized, was that it wouldn’t show mess easily—but from the way she acted, the wet spot was probably pretty large.

“It honestly was an accident,” Sarah muttered.

Suellen waved dismissively. “Of course it was,” she said. “If you’d meant to spill something on somebody like that, I expect you’d have aimed better. Right for the face, maybe.”

Sarah laughed, looked guilty, grinned, and ducked her head low over her plate.

Suellen looked back at Albus and Scorpius. “So,” she said, “that was fun. What’re your names again? I mean, I know you’re a Potter, I caught that much, but I wasn’t really paying attention to all the rest.”

“Albus,” said Albus, relaxing a little. “Hello.” The Slytherin table was starting to feel familiar to him now that food and banter had been flung across it.

“Scorpius Malfoy,” said Scorpius, leaning over the table to shake her hand. “A pleasure to meet you. You’re Suellen Howell, yes? And Sarah Hitchens?” He shook the other girl’s hand.

Suellen raised an eyebrow. “Did you listen to _everyone’s_ name?”

“No,” Scorpius admitted, “but I tried to make note of all the Slytherins, anyway.”

“You were sorted after we were,” Sarah pointed out in a quiet voice. “Why were you paying attention to Slytherin then?”

“Well, I knew that’s where I was going to go,” Scorpius said, “so I figured I ought to try and remember everyone’s names since we were going to be housemates.” From their conversation on the train Albus knew he was lying, but Scorpius said it smoothly enough that even he almost believed it.

Suellen raised an eyebrow. “You were the Hatstall,” she observed, clearly less convinced.

Scorpius paled. “I was not,” he said.

Suellen nodded. “We timed it,” she said, waving at the other students at the table. “I mean, not down to the second or anything because nobody realized how long it would take when you started, but once it went on more than a minute people started pulling out watches. It took at _least_ six minutes.”

Scorpius raised his pointed chin higher, defiantly. “Well, maybe,” he allowed. “But I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“If you were so sure you were going to be in Slytherin, what took the hat so long to agree?” Suellen asked, her voice bland.

“I don’t know,” said Scorpius. “Perhaps it was just tired. Anyway, it hardly matters now.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The new speaker was an older boy, very tall, white, with bright red hair. His fair eyebrows were currently raised so high they nearly reached his spiky hairline. He was looking at Scorpius the way somebody might eye a particularly slimy-looking bug. “Maybe we should bring the hat back out and ask for a do-over,” he suggested in a cold voice.

Scorpius’s voice was even icier. “In over a thousand years nobody has ever once argued a case against the Sorting Hat’s decisions,” he sneered. “Do you think you’re going to be the first?”

The boy glowered in silence for a moment, then said, “Where did it want to put you?”

“Right here,” Scorpius said primly. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

Albus snorted. The redhead flashed him a dirty look, then turned back to Scorpius. “I mean where _else_ was it trying to put you?” he said.

Scorpius shook his head. “I’m in Slytherin,” he said. “It wanted to put me in Slytherin, and here I am. End of story.”

“Not for Hatstalls it isn’t,” the red-haired boy sneered. “They don’t ever really fit in, do they? You won’t either. You don’t belong here.”

“Take it up with the Sorting Hat.”

This time the speaker was a girl, a tiny one with a skinny black braid. She looked vaguely Chinese, but her pointed beak of a nose made Albus suspect that her ancestry was as mixed as his own. He didn’t remember seeing her sorted, but she was so small she couldn’t have been more than a second year, if that. She didn’t flinch when the big redhead turned to glare at her, though; she eyed him coolly through narrow brown eyes and Albus had to revise his earlier assessment of the red-haired boy’s expression: _that_ was the face someone made when they were staring at a particularly ugly bug.

“Watch yourself, Vaisey,” the boy growled. “Just because you’re not a firstie anymore doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still know your place.”

“Oh you think now that you’re a seventh year you’re going to scare me all of a sudden?” Vaisey retorted, raising an eyebrow. “Come off it, Jugson. The only thing you being in your last year means is that the rest of us only have nine months and change before we can finally get rid of you and elevate the general intelligence of Slytherin House by a factor of twenty or so. It doesn’t mean you’re suddenly worthy of respect. That’s something people have to earn, you know, and if you haven’t managed to do that in six years—which you haven’t—I doubt you’ll be able to pull it off before you leave.” She smirked at him. It wasn’t a pleasant smirk.

Jugson’s face went red in mottled, irregular splotches. “Oh what, you’ve got some kind of crush on the Hatstall or something, sticking-up for him like that? You fancy him, is that it?”

“I don’t fancy people,” Vaisey retorted. “I don’t even like people. Any people. I just like you less.”

“So do something about it,” Jugson said.

Vaisey stared at him for a while. When he started to squirm she finally said, “If you insist.”

He flinched but she didn’t move. “Well?” he barked. “I’m waiting.”

“So am I,” Vaisey said. “Waiting until after Quidditch try-outs. I’m not going to risk getting a detention and missing them over _you_.” She shook her head and curled her lips into another, even nastier smile. “So there’s some good news I guess,” she continued in a voice that might have been called sweet in another girl. “It’s open-season on Vaisey. You can do whatever you want and I won’t retaliate…until _after_ I’ve made the Quidditch team. Of course, that’ll just give me more time to plan my revenge, so you might want to think better of going out of your way to make me miserable…if you’ve grown enough brain cells to understand cause-and-effect finally.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t much matter to me either way.” She turned back to her dinner and daintily ferried forkfuls of brussel sprouts to her mouth.

Jugson stared at her for a while; so did Albus. Eventually the big red-haired seventh year growled something uncomplimentary under his breath and turned away, making a big deal out of carving up slices of roast beef and chewing them noisily. Gradually the conversations that had quieted around them started up again, and soon the babble of talk from their section of the Slytherin table was as loud as ever. Albus sneaked another glance at Vaisey. Objectively she was pretty—smooth gold-brown skin, silky black hair, narrow eyes ringed with short, dark lashes—but something about her was undeniably off-putting. Albus couldn’t figure out what, but he shuddered as he turned back to his meal.

“I like her,” Scorpius whispered to him. “We should try and make friends.”

Albus shook his head. “Your funeral,” he muttered back.

Dinner gave way to desert, a glorious spread of ice creams and pies and tarts and pastries. Albus’s stomach had recovered somewhat, so he helped himself to generous portions of everything he could reach. Scorpius, as he had done on the train, only picked at the sweets.

As they ate talk turned to Quidditch, making Albus feel even more at home than the shouting had done. It turned out that Suellen was a massive Wasps supporter and she and Albus argued companionably about their latest match against the Harpies for a while. Sarah just shook her head when they asked what team she supported but Scorpius was happy to join-in on the discussion, arguing that the Harpies had a point: by focusing on female players who were disproportionately ignored by other teams they tapped into an overlooked area of talent and could thus field better players at lower cost and with less competition, and by framing it as a fight against an unequal system they earned the loyalty of players who rarely transferred to other teams even when they started getting better offers due to demonstrating their skills on the pitch with the Harpies. Suellen argued that if the Harpies meant what they said they stood for they should _encourage_ their players to take those offers, in order to get more witches onto _all_ the teams. Albus pointed-out that Gwenog Jones often did just that; her players just rarely wanted to leave, in part because of the loyalty they felt to the Harpies and in part because they were sometimes unsure how well they would be treated on the other teams. Scorpius said that was nonsense because there were witches flying on every team who never said anything about being mistreated.

“Of course not,” Suellen told him condescendingly, “they’re not going to complain. How would that go over? They’d find themselves quietly shuffled off the team and marked with an unspoken ‘never hire again’ brand to the rest of the sport. They just suck it up—or hex hard enough to make the jerks behave.”

Scorpius frowned, looking thoughtful and unsettled. He put down his fork although it still held a bite of uneaten apple tart. “That’s not right,” he said.

Suellen laughed into her rice pudding. “Of course it isn’t,” she agreed. “But it’s how the world _is_ , Malfoy.”

Scorpius sniffed and didn’t say anything else for a while. Even after Albus brought the conversation around to the unfairness of first year students not being allowed to try out for the school teams, or even bring their own brooms to school, he stayed quiet.

“I’m not an idiot,” he murmured to Albus later while Suellen and Sarah giggled over an unfortunately shaped piece of Jello. “I know the world isn’t fair, that the people in charge of things don’t care. I just thought Quidditch was better, is all.”

“It’s not as bad as she made it sound,” Albus reassured him. “Not from the stories mum’s told, anyway. _Mostly_ things are fine and people are treated well by their teammates and captains and all that. Sometimes not, and yeah, I guess it’s a big risk to make a fuss about it when something’s wrong, like Suellen said—but it’s not like that happens a _lot_.”

“It shouldn’t happen to people at all,” Scorpius said.

“No,” Albus agreed. “It’s better than it used to be, though, mum says. And that’s something.”

“Not enough,” Scorpius muttered, scowling at his half-finished tart.

“No,” Albus said again. “No it isn’t.”

He noticed a stocky, black haired girl in her second or third year staring at the two of them speculatively from her seat on the other side of the table. “What?” Albus asked defensively, but the dishes were clearing again and the headmaster climbed back onto his chair before he could extract an explanation from the girl.

“Much better, isn’t that?” Professor Flitwick asked, patting his belly.

Several students chuckled and even some of the professors grinned. “It’d be even better if you skipped the speech altogether, sir!” somebody shouted. Albus recognized the voice: it was James, his brother. Albus rolled his eyes but the crowd of Gryffindors around James laughed.

Flitwick smiled and waved the suggestion away good-humoredly. “Ah, but Mr. Potter, if you weren’t reminded of the rules every year, how would you know when you were breaking them?”

More people laughed at that. Albus scowled. Trust James to find a way to turn his misbehavior into a joke that everybody else enjoyed.

Flitwick cleared his throat and went on, “Now then, there are a few start of term notices I want to give you all, so try and pay attention please!

“Firstly, let me remind everyone—once again—that the Forbidden Forest is indeed _forbidden_ to all students. That means there is to be no entry into the woods, no not even if you’re chasing a Quaffle that you ‘accidentally’ threw into the trees.” More people—not just Gryffindors this time—laughed and Flitwick chuckled to himself before he continued.

“Also there is no magic whatsoever to be used in the corridors between classes. Not even practicing your lessons, especially not the sort of ‘practicing your lessons’ that involves the unexpected participation of other students! Remember that proper experiments require _consenting_ participation of all parties involved; otherwise you’ve just got pranks with paperwork!” The laughter was louder this time and a lot of it came from the Ravenclaw table.

“Now, if you could all put your hands together in a nice warm welcome, I would like to introduce you all to your new Charms teacher, Professor Edgecombe!” Flitwick waved toward the end of the table and a white woman with a lot of curly red-gold hair stood up and nodded to the students. They clapped dutifully and someone from the Ravenclaw table whistled, but Albus’s applause was distracted. He squinted, trying to get a better look at her. There was something strange about her face, he wasn’t sure what; it wasn’t freckles, at least not like he’d ever seen, but something similar…

Professor Edgecombe sat back down and Flitwick waved them all silent again. “All right,” he said, “that just about clears everything up. Just remember students, we are all here for one reason: to give you all the best magical education possible! We can all help one another succeed—and that starts with getting a good night’s rest before our classes! Please follow your prefects to your common rooms and have lovely dreams of your imminent academic success!”

Several people laughed but Albus didn’t think the headmaster had been joking.

They filed out of the room in a big, disorganized cluster of shouting and laughing and shoving students. The first years all headed straight for the doors while many of the older students paused to exchange words with their friends from other houses. Albus looked for Rose but couldn’t spot her in the crowd. He looked for James, too, and ducked behind Scorpius so his brother couldn’t spot him.

The Slytherins followed a tall, handsome boy with high cheekbones and dark copper skin who had introduced himself only as “Tremblay.” He led the first years out of the Great Hall and down a long staircase. Around a corner and down a corridor was another short staircase, then another; Albus’s spirits lowered with the elevation as it sunk in that he was going to the dungeons, not the towers.

By the time they’d walked through the door hidden behind the tapestry and stopped in front of a long, blank stretch of stone wall Albus felt sick again. He wished he hadn’t eaten that third helping of trifle.

Tremblay turned and looked at the first years. “Pay attention,” he said. “This is the door to our common room. It’s hidden unless you speak the proper password. The password this week is _anguis_ —because we don’t want any of you first years locked-out because you couldn’t remember it. Generally passwords are changed monthly, unless somebody does something stupid and compromises it—which if you do, tell a prefect immediately; our common room is only for Slytherin students and interlopers will _not_ be tolerated—but this is just a probationary password. There will be a new one Saturday morning so I suggest that you find a prefect and ask what it is before you leave for breakfast, or you may not be able to get back inside.” He smiled thinly. “Any questions?”

Everybody shook their heads in meek silence. “All right,” said Tremblay, and led the way inside when the stones slid open at his command and revealed a low arched doorway. The first years crowded through, the angry brown-haired girl in the lead. The room was long and low-ceilinged, its walls carved straight out of the surrounding stone. “Dormitories are through those two doors,” Tremblay continued, pointing at two wooden doors on the far sides of the room. “Boys to the left, girls to the right. If you don’t know where to go, ask me.” Someone giggled and was quickly hushed. From the flat expression on Tremblay’s face he hadn’t been joking. “All right, go to bed or at least don’t get caught if you feel the need to wander the halls. I wouldn’t advise it though; Hogwarts is a maze and the odds of you finding your way back are a lot lower than the odds of you being caught by someone. You don’t want to lose us housepoints before we’ve even earned any—not if you want to _enjoy_ your time in Slytherin House.” He smirked at them. Much like Vaisey’s smile at dinner, it was not a pleasant one.

Nobody said anything. Tremblay stared at them for another long minute then shrugged and walked to the door on the left. The first years hesitated, then split apart and streamed toward the dormitories. The angry girl who had worn Sarah’s spilled pumpkin juice was the first through the girls’ door; she complained loudly about finally being able to get out of her sticky robes but Albus wasn’t listening. He was staring at the place that was going to be his home away from home for the next seven years.

The common room wasn’t unpleasant, although the elegant snakes-and-skulls motif was a little creepy. A large, elaborately carved mantle—the source of most of those skull carvings—topped a fireplace that was already lit in the wall opposite the door. Light also came from the round, greenish lamps that hung from the ceiling by short metal chains. Wide, dark windows stretched out to either side of the fireplace. There were chairs and sofas of various design and era scattered around the room and interspersed with small tables. It all looked old and worn but of very high quality—the kind of things that lingered in a home until they were eventually branded _antiques_ rather than being thrown away and replaced by newer models. The wall that the hidden door was in held several bookcases with lots of thick, leather-bound books and strange bottles and small chests. The stone floor was half-hidden by an assortment of thick, soft rugs. The décor reminded Albus a little of the parlor, the fanciest room in his house and the one where most of the old furniture from when the place had belonged to his dad’s late god-father had ended up, but it didn’t feel much like home.

He followed Scorpius through the door and down a narrow staircase to the first year boys’ dormitory. There were five large, four-poster beds with heavy green curtains. Their trunks were already waiting, placed neatly at the foot of each bed, and Scorpius’s kitten was curled up on his pillow. The windows in here were much smaller than the ones in the common room. Albus squinted into the darkness beyond, wondering what they showed—maybe just solid stone—but he was too tired and heartsick to investigate. He muttered an obligatory, “Good night,” to the other boys, who were mostly yawning too hard to converse, and exchanged his clothes for his pyjamas. He set his glasses and his wand neatly on the nightstand beside his bed, crawled under the covers, pulled the curtains shut around him, and told himself that he wasn’t allowed to cry.

He was still repeating the instruction over and over when he finally fell asleep.

\- - - -

Rose walked with the other Ravenclaw first years up flight after flight of stairs and down long, portrait-lined corridors. Victoire was in the lead with the other seventh year prefect and she warned them that several of the staircases moved periodically. Once they had to stop and pull Eustace Spencer—a short boy with curly auburn hair—out of a hole when he was too distracted by the waving and whispering portraits to jump the trick step Victoire pointed-out. Rose looked around for Dominique and the Ravenclaws she had met on the train. She’d sat with them during the feast, but there was no sign of them now; as they had walked, Victoire had slowed the first years down and let the others draw ahead. Rose wasn’t sure why. She had wanted to ask Dominique how much farther it was to the common room, but now she wanted to know why they were dawdling. With the excitement of the Sorting Ceremony and the feast wearing-off and her belly pleasantly full of delicious food, all Rose wanted to do now was go to sleep.

Instead it felt like they were climbing—slowly—to the very top of the castle. Victoire led them up a tight spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever. Rose’s legs burned. Finally they came to a door, but one without any visible means of opening it: there was no handle, no knob, no keyhole—just plain, old wood. If it hadn’t been for the hinges along one side and the eagle-shaped bronze knocker in the middle, Rose wouldn’t have even known it was supposed to be a door.

“Here we are,” Victoire said, turning to face the first years. They had crowded together on the little landing in front of the door but it was small enough that a few were left standing on the stairs instead. Rose edged closer, trying to make more room for the students behind her. Several of them seemed to be too busy staring at Victoire to look at the door when she pointed but Rose—who was used to her enchanting cousin—turned to study the knocker on the impenetrable door.

“This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room,” Victoire explained. “Unlike the other Houses, it is protected by nothing so bland as a password; instead, in order to enter you must answer a riddle. It is permitted to work together with your housemates, of course—ideas that grow in vacuums are rarely as strong as those that are born in the fires of debate, after all—but you must never let a student from another house in. If they can answer the riddle on their own,” she shrugged, “then I suppose they’ll have earned the right to enter—but we prefer not to have interlopers in our common room, so let’s not abuse that by inviting your friends up here to try and guess at the riddle, yes?” She smiled at them sweetly and Rose saw an enthusiastic wave of nods sweep through the little group of first years. She smothered a snicker in her sleeve.

“Okay then,” Victoire said. “Watch—and learn.” She turned to the door and rapped her knuckles once on the age-smoothed wood. The beak of the eagle opened in response to her knock and Rose flinched, expecting a fierce screech, but instead the voice that issued from the eagle-knocker was pleasant: soft and musical.

“What bites with no mouth, wails with no voice, and flaps without wings?” it said.

The first years stared. Victoire smiled at them. “We aren’t here to answer it for you,” she said, pointing at herself and the seventh year boy now standing at the back of the group of students like a pair of tall bookends. He smirked at them and shook his head in confirmation. Rose turned back to face the door, her tired mind spinning. Nobody had mentioned a riddle to her—mum and dad had just said there would be a password to keep her common room secure, and that she would have to remember it without writing it down where someone else might be able to find it. Of course, they had both been in Gryffindor, so perhaps they hadn’t known that Ravenclaw worked by different rules—or perhaps they had been so sure that she would be sorted into Gryffindor that they hadn’t bothered telling her how the other Houses did things. She resolved to write to Teddy and ask him what Hufflepuff did; she could find out about Slytherin from Albus tomorrow. These were details that weren’t covered in _Hogwarts, A History_ , and Rose wanted to know them as soon as possible.

She realized slowly that the other students standing around her were talking quietly to one another. Some were just complaining—a stout blond boy with more freckles on his face than even Rose had ever seen in one place before wailed that he was terrible at riddles and why hadn’t he been in Hufflepuff like his parents—but most, Rose realized, were already discussing possible answers to the riddle.

“It might be fear,” said Agnes Boot, a light-skinned black girl with kinky red hair. Rose remembered her from the Sorting Ceremony: she had been the first student sent to the Ravenclaw table. Agnes’s round blue eyes narrowed and she added, “Or possibly hope—no, that sounds stupid now I say it out loud…”

“Death?” offered a tan boy with messy brown curls. He grimaced when the other students turned to look at him. “No, too morbid, okay. Never mind,” he said quickly, raising his hands in surrender.

“That doesn’t mean it’s necessarily wrong,” pointed out a tall black boy in a thoughtful voice. He tapped his chin a few times then added, “Although it doesn’t seem _specific_ enough, maybe…”

“A blast-ended skrewt?” Rose suggested, eager to participate, then shook her head. “No, that’s not right at all, they don’t do any flapping. And I suppose _technically_ they have mouths…”

“What’s a what now?” the curly-haired boy asked her, looking confused.

“Tell you later,” said Eustace. He yawned. “Bed first, which means figuring this out.”

“Any hints?” a chubby white girl asked Victoire hopefully; Rose remembered her name—Millicent Jones—because she had been the next Ravenclaw sorted after her.

Victoire grinned wolfishly. “Nope,” she said. “Keep thinking. Or if one of you has an answer to try, go for it. It’s not a once-and-done deal you know; the eagle will wait until you’ve come up with a right answer and you can try as many times as you like.”

“Wait,” said Rose, “what do you mean _a_ right answer—?”

“Oh, I know this,” interrupted a lovely girl with dark olive-brown skin. She threw her hair over her shoulder and strode forward boldly through the crowd of students. “It’s the wind,” she sneered to the eagle-knocker. “Those are all words that people use to describe wind,” she explained to the watching first years, “even though the wind doesn’t _actually_ do any of those things. See?”

“Deeds are in the eyes of the beholder,” the eagle said, but the door swung open.

“ _Voilà,"_ said Victoire, grinning at them all. “Of course, usually the eagle goes more for thought-provoking ideas than mere word-play, but it tends to go easy on first years—especially their first night. In fact, wind is something of a common theme for first-night-riddles; perhaps it’s giving you a hint about what you’ll find within?” She winked and led the way inside.

Rose stepped through the door and gasped with delight. There were few of the older Ravenclaws inside, most of them presumably having gone to bed already, but those who were still awake greeted the first years with smiles and friendly waves and congratulations. A few even applauded but Rose was too busy looking around to look at them. The room itself was a large, circular shape, airy and high-ceilinged. Like the Great Hall there were stars on the domed ceiling but these appeared to be painted-on and permanent, not enchanted. The midnight blue carpet was covered in stars as well. The walls were broken by high arches festooned with blue and bronze silks. It was too dark to see out those windows, but from how high they had climbed Rose was sure the view would be amazing in the morning. In between the arches there were bookcases stuffed full to overflowing. The carpeted floor sported a great number of assorted tables and chairs and a few couches but there was a lot of empty space between the furniture as well which made the room seem more open than cluttered despite the haphazard, mismatched arrangement of furnishings. Rose found her eyes drawn to a niche in the wall directly across from the door: it held a slightly-larger-than-life-sized statue of what had to be Rowena Ravenclaw herself carved out of white marble. It stood on a tall plinth, letting it look down on the room and the students in it.

Victoire pointed to the wooden door in the wall next to the statue. “Your dormitories,” she said. “Don’t forget to close the curtains, unless you like being woken by dawn streaming in on your face.” She chuckled, gave Rose a wink that was just for her, and sauntered across the room and through the door.

The first years filed into the room tentatively, some walking over to peer out the dark windows or examine the bookshelves. Most headed straight for the dormitories, Rose included. She had been worried that she would be too excited to sleep her first night at Hogwarts, and would consequently be too tired the next day to pay attention properly in her classes, but those worries had evaporated; she could have slept on the stone landing outside if she’d had to, she was so tired.

Yawning widely, she trailed a short Korean girl through the door Victoire had taken. There was another, narrow curving staircase within, but the door to the first year girls’ dormitory was only a few steps up. Rose was glad of it; her legs burned already. She didn’t want to deal with any more stairs.

Inside was a small room, its outer and inner walls both curved. It was furnished with five plush canopied beds and matching cedar nightstands. The outer wall was lined with windows, narrower than the huge arches in the common room proper and all framed by heavy blue velvet drapes. Those drapes were open right now and Rose’s first act was to grab one and pull it shut. The other girls helped, everybody smiling at one another but clearly too tired to talk; they kept pausing to yawn and then giggled at one another for pausing, but they made sure that every curtain was closed against the imminent dawn Victoire had warned them about before they moved to their beds.

Halfway through pulling her nightshirt over her head Rose was interrupted by a yawn so big that she thought it was going to split her head right in two. She forced herself to finish changing and drag a brush through her hair; while her curls weren’t nearly as unruly as the bushy mane that her brother had inherited from their mum, she still needed to manage her hair regularly to keep it in check. It was all she could do to perform the chore now, though; finished, she dropped the brush on her nightstand and collapsed into the soft, silky cushion of sheets and pillows. She was asleep the moment her eyes closed. If the wind blew outside their tower that night, she didn’t hear it.

Morning did indeed come too early, but Rose woke not to the glare of light streaming into her eyes but to the quiet murmur of unfamiliar voices. She thought about rolling over and trying to go back to sleep but then she remembered where she was and a rush of excitement wiped away any urge to drowse. Rose sat up in a rush and tumbled out of bed, struggling briefly to shove her way through the enclosing blue curtains.

“Oh. Hi,” she said, and smiled at the two girls perched on the windowsill who had turned to stare at her. She could feel herself flushing, thinking how silly she had to have looked fighting her way out of her bed curtains like that, but neither girl laughed at her. She knew them both from the Sorting Ceremony the night before: Agnes Boot and Millicent Jones.

“Good morning,” Millicent whispered, giving Rose a chipper smile.

“The others are still asleep,” Agnes added, also whispering. “Did we wake you?”

Rose shook her head, although she thought maybe they had; it might have just been her own eager nerves, though, and either way she wasn’t upset to be awake. “No,” she said, modulating her own voice to a whisper that matched theirs. “Couldn’t sleep anymore,” she explained, “too excited.”

“Us too,” said Millicent, and patted the windowsill next to the one she and Agnes were sitting on. “Come join us? We were just introducing Elsa,” she held up a sleepy white rat, “to Penguin here.” She nodded to the black-and-white tuxedo cat in Agnes’s arms. “Did you bring a pet?”

“No.” Rose walked over and perched on the windowsill; it wasn’t wide enough to be a proper window-seat and there was no cushion, but she could wedge her bum against the glass and sit comfortably enough. With the trailing end of the still-closed curtain bunched up like a sort of cushion under her rump it was a softer seat than it would have been with just the plain stone sill, but also narrower due to the thick fabric. Rose shifted around until she no longer felt like she was going to slip off, then looked at the other girls and shrugged. “My mum said that I should wait until my second year to choose a pet if I wanted one, so that I’d be making ‘an informed decision.’” She smiled wryly and added, “My mum is really big on ‘informed decisions.’”

Both girls giggled, Agnes lifting her cat to her face and stifling her laugh in the fur on top of its head. The cat meowed and stretched its head up to scratch its ear against her round nose. She rolled her eyes and returned the cat to her lap, then leaned forward across Millicent and stretched out a hand to Rose.

“I’m Agnes,” she said, pumping Rose’s hand up and down enthusiastically. “Agnes Boot. Nice to meet you.”

“Rose Granger-Weasley,” Rose replied, although she already knew both girls’ names; perhaps they didn’t remember hers and were introducing themselves to be polite instead of risking offending her by asking outright who she was.

“I’m Mille,” said Millicent, “Millie Jones, hello.”

Rose shook her hand as well—a softer, gentler grip than Agnes’s—and asked, “Sorry, did you say your rat’s name was Elsa?”

Mille’s pale cheeks went pink. “Yes,” she said, in a voice thick with embarrassment. She looked like she was bracing herself for a bought of mockery.

Rose grinned and let it go. “Pretty name,” she said blandly. “And the cat was…Penguin?”

“On account of him being a tuxedo cat,” Agnes explained grandly. Unlike Millie she didn’t sound ashamed of her choice of name at all, terrible pun that it was.

“Very clever,” said Rose in a dry voice. “I’ll have to remember to ask your help for naming ideas if I ever get stuck.”

“You ought to,” Agnes replied, tossing her curls in an exaggerated parody of arrogance. “I am brilliant, after all.”

All three of them giggled and shushed each other.

It was too late though; a fourth set of curtains opened with a rustle of fabric and a golden heart-shaped face peered out at them blearily. “Good morning,” said the owner of the face, her voice still thick with sleep. She brushed silky black hair out of her eyes and blinked at them. “Is it time for breakfast already?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Rose said, shaking her head. “We just couldn’t sleep any more—”

“And neither can anyone else with you all yammering on like that,” interrupted another voice, this one belonging to the fifth and final girl in their dormitory. She pushed her curtains open and scowled at them all. She was the girl who had answered the riddle successfully the night before: a pretty Pakistani girl with big brown eyes under thick arched brows that were, at the moment, lowered in a sulky frown. “Are you going to do this every day?” she asked.

“No,” Agnes answered for all of them, “I love sleeping in. But Penguin here—” she held up her cat for inspection “—he decided I needed to be awake to explore our new home, I guess.”

“I just woke-up because I was too excited to sleep,” Millie confessed. She stroked her rat’s head and added, “Elsa was asleep until I brought her out to meet Penguin.”

“Penguin the cat?” asked the bleary-eyed girl who had opened her curtains first. She smiled sleepily. “I like that name. It’s funny.”

“Thank you,” Agnes said, her voice lofty. “I agree. We shall be great friends, I can tell. I’m Agnes Boot.”

“I know,” said the sleepy girl. “And you’re Rose Granger-Weasley, and you’re Millicent Jones, and you’re Amira Shafiq. And I’m Seo-yeon Moon.” She pointed to all of them in turn, ending with herself. “I was listening during the Sorting Ceremony. Just because I don’t always look like I’m paying attention doesn’t mean I’m not. Except when I’m not, sometimes.” She smiled again.

“Actually, I like being called Millie more,” the chubby girl with the rat said apologetically. “But other than that, it’s really impressive that you remembered everybody’s name.”

“Not really.” Seo-yeon shrugged. “I like names. They tell you so much about a person, don’t they?”

“Only if your parents got someone to do a fate-casting when you were born,” Amira sneered, “provided that you believe that sort of Divination even works.”

Seo-yeon shook her head. “Not the name you are given,” she said, “but the way you use it. Millie, for instance—she doesn’t like being the center of attention and is afraid she takes up too much space, so she shortens her lovely long name down to something cute and small instead.” She smiled at Millie, who stared back with wide eyes, then turned back to Amira. “Go on,” Seo-yeon encouraged her, “tell us your name.”

“I’m not telling you my name when you’re already told everyone,” Amira said, rolling her eyes. “There’s no point in being silly.”

“I’ll do it,” Agnes interrupted. “I’m Agnes Boot. What can you tell about me?”

Seo-yeon brushed her tangled hair back out of her eyes and turned to Agnes. “You like yourself,” she said, “you’re confident in who you are and what you think, and you want everyone to know what that is.”

Agnes blinked. “That…actually sounds pretty accurate,” she said, looking slightly stunned. “Okay, do Rose next.”

Rose held up her hands. “I’m fine,” she said, “really. Everybody knows my name, there’s no big secrets hiding in it.”

“So what are you afraid of?” Agnes challenged, so Rose had to take a deep breath and say:

“Fine then. I’m Rose Granger-Weasley and I think you’re all being silly. How’s that?”

Seo-yeon nodded thoughtfully and said, “I’m silly a lot, I think. It’s more freeing, letting yourself be silly than not. And you’re very proud of your parents but you don’t want people to know that because you think it sounds like bragging when you say it, because of who they are.”

Rose could feel her cheeks go hot and she scowled. “You’re just making this all up, aren’t you?” she accused the sleep-tousled girl. “You’re not actually doing anything with ‘the way we name ourselves’ or whatever, you’re just taking obvious statements and stereotypes and whatnot, and making it sound all mysterious by pretending you can ‘see it in our names’ or whatever.”

Seo-yeon blinked. “Of course I’m making it up,” she said, not sounding offended. “Isn’t that the point? Otherwise I would be asking you questions to learn about you, not drawing assessments out of your names. I didn’t mean to make anything sound mysterious though; I thought I was speaking plainly.” She shrugged. “I’m very sorry about that.”

“That isn’t—” Rose shook her head, still scowling. “I’m just saying, you aren’t actually—oh, forget it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Millie staring wide-eyed and Agnes looking elated while Rose sulked and Amira watched them all expressionlessly. Seo-yeon looked from one girl to the other, still smiling vaguely, and then started to straighten her tangled hair one piece at a time between her fingers.

“Well, this has been fun,” Amira said drily, “but if I have to be awake, I’m going to at least be productive about it. Excuse me.” She stood up, gathered her things, and sauntered into the bathroom to wash-up.

Agnes shrugged and slung her cat across one shoulder so she could drag open the first set of curtains, letting the gray light stream in to their curved tower room. Rose sighed, fetched her hairbrush, and followed Amira through the door.

By the time they trooped downstairs to join the other Ravenclaws on their way to the Great Hall for breakfast they were all talking to each other again, eagerly exchanging the various stories and rumors they had been told about Hogwarts by their family and friends.

Rose earned Amira’s regard by offering to share the small travel hair-dryer she had packed after hearing Amira lament that she didn’t know how to do the hair-drying charm her mother always used. Rose had brought the hair-dryer along with a small solar charger unit to power it even though she wasn’t sure how well either of them would work at Hogwarts, figuring that she didn’t have anything to lose by trying. Of course it wasn’t charged now, but she set the solar unit on a windowsill and promised Amira that if it ended up working, she’d be happy to share use of the hair-dryer later. Then she had to explain what a hair-dryer was; Amira came from a totally wizarding family and didn’t even understand how electricity worked, let alone know about hair-dryers.

“Strange,” was all she said when Rose finished, then shrugged. “But thank you—I think.”

“I’ll show you how it works,” Rose assured her. “Provided it _does_ work, of course. I’m not sure if it will. Hogwarts has such a thick magical field that most Muggle technology doesn’t work anywhere near the castle, and the more complex the device the lower the chances of it working. Older, gear-driven or combustion-based mechanical stuff is mostly okay, although it can be a touch idiosyncratic, but digital stuff doesn’t work at all and the more electrical the device, the more problems it will have. This hair-dryer’s pretty basic though, so it _might_ work—but the solar charger is iffier.”

“Someone’s done studies on Muggle devices at Hogwarts, have they?” Agnes asked curiously.

Rose nodded. “Oh yes,” she said, “I mean, not a lot—but people have made notes on it over the years, mostly Muggle-borns I guess or other people who grew-up in very Muggle households. My mum’s a Muggle-born so we have lots of things like microwaves and central air and mobile phones and stuff like that at my house.” She sighed, thinking how much she was going to miss being able to Google anything that caught her fancy, then grinned again as she remembered that the trade-off to not having access to the internet was having access to the Hogwarts library, which was one of the best collections of magical texts in all of Wizarding Britain.

“What’s a microwave?” Amira asked.


	4. First Lessons

Rose was coming to regret bringing up the subject by the time they reached the Great Hall. Of the five first year girls, only Millie had grown-up with as much Muggle technology around as Rose had—her parents were a mixed marriage, one Muggle and one witch—so she had had to do a great deal more explaining of things than she had expected. It hadn’t occurred to Rose how isolated many wizarding families were from all aspects of Muggle life. Everyone in her family at least knew what a microwave was for, even if they all knew better than to let Granddad Weasley touch one unsupervised and her parents were the only ones who actually owned one. Amira’s family didn’t even have a landline phone. Even Rose’s wizarding grandparents had a landline, although admittedly most of the time it was nonfunctional because her granddad had been “tinkering” with it.

Now she found herself explaining, for what felt like the seventh time, “No, they have to do it that way because they can’t _use_ what we do because ours is magic, right?”

“It seems so much less efficient that way,” Amira sighed.

Rose gritted her teeth and fought the urge to snap, “Well they don’t have a choice do they?” Instead she took a deep breath, counted to ten, and changed the subject by saying, “That smells delicious—I’m starving!” It wasn’t a lie, either; the moment she crossed the threshold of the Great Hall her irritation evaporated in anticipatory gastrointestinal delight. The four House tables were as yet only sparsely populated by students but the platters of food on them were piled high with sausages and toast and beans and bacon and fruit and at least three different sorts of potatoes. There were scrambled eggs, fried eggs, poached eggs, over-easy eggs, creamed eggs, soft-boiled eggs, and even eggs-in-a-basket.

_Now that_ , Rose thought happily, _is how to do a breakfast!_

Breakfast had always been one of Rose’s favorite meals, but she had never seen a spread like this, not even when they all went over to gran’s for a Sunday morning family feast.

She grinned and slid onto a bench, reaching for the nearest plate of sausages and snagging a piece of toast on the way. “S’good,” she mumbled with her mouth full, when she caught sight of Louis smirking at her from the other side of the table. He laughed and Rose flushed but didn’t stop eating. The other first year girls crowded in around her, Agnes spearing three sausages at once and Seo-yeon ladling a truly impressive amount of honey over a bowl of granola and blueberries.

“Sleep well?” Louis asked, when Rose at last surfaced for air and a glass of cold pumpkin juice.

“Hmm?” said Rose, buttering a piece of toast. “Oh, yes, thanks. You?”

Louis shrugged. “It wasn’t my first night in the tower,” he said. “Some people complain about the wind.”

“Oh,” said Rose. She frowned, thinking back, then shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything,” she said.

Louis nodded. “Except during the big storms it doesn’t bother me,” he explained. “Mostly I think it’s…I don’t know, peaceful?” He shrugged again and reached for the currant jam. Louis was a year older than Rose, almost as tall, and every bit as beautiful as his sisters. He wore his silvery-gold hair in a feathered bob that was too short to reveal the darker red tones that his sisters sported but Rose knew that if he grew his hair out longer, he would have them too. He had the same willowy, graceful build, which Rose thought was very unfair because no twelve-year-old should be able to look that self-possessed. Just being in his vicinity made her feel awkward and clumsy.

She made a face at him. “I guess I was too tired to notice,” she said.

“I heard it,” Seo-yeon chimed in brightly. “The wind? It sounded like a song. It was nice.”

Amira rolled her eyes. “Oh good, let’s anthropomorphize the breeze some more. We didn’t get enough of that last night from the eagle.”

“All right,” said Seo-yeon, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “Um…it was sort of like having someone murmur in your ear, only quietly enough that you couldn’t make out the words. Like a half-remembered conversation between the breeze and you. I thought it sounded like it wanted to—”

“Sarcasm!” Amira groaned. “That was sarcasm! Please stop.”

Agnes, Millie, and Rose all laughed at her.

Louis smirked and shook his head. “There’s the class schedules.” He pointed to Professor Edgecombe, who was passing out sheets of parchment to the various Ravenclaws. “Did you grab yours yet?” he asked innocently even though he had surely seen that Rose had led the others in a beeline straight for the table the moment she had smelled breakfast.

“No,” Rose admitted, and shoveled another forkful of eggs into her mouth before following the other girls over to the Charms teacher.

Up close Rose could see that it wasn’t freckles on Professor Edgecombe’s face but rather scars—little dull, round gray patches of skin that were a shade darker and a shade greener than the rest of her face. Looking closely Rose could see that she was wearing a thin layer of foundation but aside from that had made no special effort to cover the scars, at least none that Rose could see. The spots appeared to form letters; trying not to look like she was looking, Rose held out her hand for her schedule and smiled brightly at Professor Edgecombe.

“Granger-Weasley,” the new teacher said without asking, “right. Here you go.” She handed Rose a sheet of parchment and turned away to the next student in line, a pudgy fifth year boy with green streaks in his hair. Rose walked back to her seat slowly, frowning in thought. What could have happened to Professor Edgecombe to leave her with scars that spelled out the word “SPEAK” across her face?

Rose knew that Muggles often sported small scars from ordinary, everyday mishaps, but for wix they were rare; between healing spells and healing potions most wounds could be fixed with ease, and a few drops of Dittany could prevent all but the worst from leaving scars. Those generally only came from very strong—often Dark—magic. Her dad had some interesting scars on his arms from being attacked by brains and getting splinched once, and Uncle Bill had marks on his face from a werewolf attack, and of course Uncle Harry’s lightning bolt scar was famous—but for the most part, wix didn’t sport a lot of scars, not even those who had lived through a war.

“Did you see her face?” Millie asked, sounding both awed and horrified. “Did you see—it looked like a word?”

“’Sneak,’” said Agnes matter-of-factly, “I’m pretty sure it said ‘sneak.’”

“Do you—are you sure?” Millie asked, her pink cheeks going paler.

Agnes nodded firmly. “I’m sure,” she said.

Rose turned back to her cousin. “Do you know what happened to her?” she asked Louis.

He looked up from his classlist. “To who? Oh, Professor Edgecombe? No,” he shook his head. “Weren’t you listening at the feast? This is her first year teaching here. We had a bloke named Merrythought for Charms last year. He was a lark, but pretty old. I guess he was one of Professor Flitwick’s old friends from the Dueling Circuit who he’d asked to take over the position when he stepped up as Headmaster after Minerva McGonagall retired?” Louis shrugged. “Nobody was surprised that he didn’t stay long. I gather he only took the job as a favor to Flitwick until he could find someone permanent.”

“Oh,” said Rose, disappointed. “I do remember that. I just thought—”

“That me having been here last year, I could now serve as your resource for answering anything that tickled your curiosity?” Louis asked in a drawling voice. He smirked at her. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Rose told him, and he laughed.

“No I’m not,” he agreed. “Now look at your class schedule, would you? That way if you have any questions about that you can ask me now and get it over with. I do have other things to do this morning than serve as your Google-voice stand-in, you know.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him but she did what he suggested. “Oh,” she said, “Charms first…I wonder if she’ll say anything about it?” It didn’t seem likely—probably teachers didn’t generally discuss those sorts of things with their students—but Rose decided to hold out hope. She hated being presented with a question she couldn’t find an answer to, and she doubted that she’d find the story behind Professor Edgecombe’s scars in _Notable Magical Events of the 20 th Century_, or _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord_ , or even in _Hogwarts, A History_. She sighed and looked over the rest of her classes for the day.

She smiled when she saw that she was scheduled for Herbology after Charms; it would be nice to see Uncle Neville on her first day. After lunch she had double Potions which she was a little nervous about; while Rose had read-up on all her subjects before coming, and had sneaked in as much practicing as she could—suspecting that her mother was quietly turning a blind eye to it because she’d have had to tell Rose to knock it off if she’d caught her doing underage magic on purpose—she was worried about Potions. Neither of her parents did a lot of brewing at home, buying most of their everyday potions from the stores in Diagon Alley; Hermione said that she didn’t have the time to waste waiting for a cauldron to boil and Ron said he did enough mixing and measuring at work to satisfy three potioneers, thanks. She knew the basics though, and that was why she was worried. Rose had never been able to get a recipe right any of the times that Gran Weasley had tried to teach her to cook and wasn’t Potions a lot like cooking, only more interesting?

She sighed and flipped ahead to look at the rest of the week. She wondered if she would have any classes with Albus. She desperately hoped so; they were supposed to be at Hogwarts _together_ , and being sorted into different Houses had not been part of the plan. It seemed like every five minutes she thought of something else she wanted to talk to him about but when she turned to get his attention, of course he wasn’t there.

“Well you’ll just have to make the best of it,” she told herself firmly, and then had to wave-off Agnes and Seo-yeon’s questions about _what_ she was making the best of. “Just thinking aloud,” Rose told them. “Do you know where the Charms room is?”

None of the others did but Louis was happy to offer directions. Rose scribbled them down in the margin of her schedule as he talked, but given that he doubled-back on himself several times to add things like “oh and make sure you jump the trick step on that last staircase of course,” and, “mind you, Peeves likes to hang-out around that hallway, and if you see him you’ll want to go the long way, which means ducking through the hidden passage behind the tapestry of Anne the Unwelcoming and taking the West staircase instead,” she wasn’t sure that she’d written it all down accurately.

“You’ll do fine,” Louis said. “Excuse me, I want a word with Mei, I think she’s still got my silver scales…” He walked away before Rose could stop him to double-check whether he meant the third staircase on the _right_ or the _left_ of the statue of Gregor the Troll Tamer.

“Bother,” said Rose, and was suddenly hugged from behind.

“ _Bonne chance, ma petite cousin!”_ Victoire said, kissed her cheek, and wafted away in a crowd of chattering seventh years before Rose could respond.

Rose blinked, staggered, and got her feet back under her just in time to dazedly return a wave and a rude gesture from Dominique, who was also leaving the Great Hall with her friends, a bunch of fifth year Ravenclaws who moved together in a yawning, noisy lump.

“So would it be easier to ask who you _aren’t_ related to, then?” Amira asked drily. She didn’t seem to want an answer because she picked up her schoolbag and walked away without waiting for one.

“There aren’t _that_ many of us,” Rose said to her retreating back.

“They certainly are _noticeable_ , though,” Agnes commented, staring down the table toward where Louis was arguing with a pretty black-haired girl who barely reached his chin. She didn’t seem to find him intimidating in the least and they walked out together, still arguing.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Wait until you meet the rest of them,” she said. “Come on, we’d better get to class if we don’t want to risk being late. I’m _pretty_ sure I know which way we ought to go, but…”

“Better safe than sorry,” Millie agreed, and together the three girls—with Seo-yeon trailing distractedly behind—set-off for their first Hogwarts lesson.

It turned out to be something of a let-down. They found their way to the right classroom with only one wrong turn and a little help from a friendly bunch of painted wix who were enjoying a game of croquette across two large paintings. That left Rose and her new housemates plenty of time before the bell rang to gossip and exchange names with the first year Ravenclaw boys whom they hadn’t met yet: Jackson Ellis, Richard Stewart, and Aiden Taylor—the boy who had suggested death as the answer to last night’s riddle and been confused by Rose’s mention of blast-ended skrewts.

They all settled down right away when class started, everyone either too excited to be at Hogwarts at last to misbehave or too prudent to cross a new teacher before they knew how far she could be pushed. Professor Edgecombe proved to be nice enough however, not even taking points from Eustace and Samuel when they came in ten minutes after class started, the both of them out of breath and disjointedly explaining how they had made the mistake of asking a little floating man with a belled cap for directions and the many disasters that had led them to suffer.

“That would be Peeves,” Professor Edgecombe told them, “a poltergeist. I suggest you all do your best to steer clear of him; he’s nothing but trouble. A wretched pest, but one that nobody has been able to get rid of. Well, you didn’t know, so I won’t blame you for it,” she added, ushering them to their seats. “I’ll excuse your tardiness this time on the basis of ignorance, but that’s the last time I’ll be accepting general Peevishness as an excuse. Next time I’ll have no choice but to take housepoints, understand?”

Rose wasn’t sure if Professor Edgecombe was making a deliberate play on words or not. She didn’t dare laugh in case she wasn’t; no one else did either. The teacher’s scarred, stoic face offered no clue.

Rose wasn’t sure what to make of the Charms professor. She was brisk and efficient, which Rose approved of, but she wouldn’t let them do any magic their first lesson, which was a great disappointment. “You’ve got to know the theory first in order to know what you’re doing,” Professor Edgecombe explained. “Believe me, Charms takes practice, so you’ll spend more than enough time waving your wands around in here this term—but not until you’re ready to do it _right_.” She didn’t mention the intriguing scars on her face either, which was another disappointment although not much of a surprise. “You all have your textbooks, right? Good. I want nine inches on the first three chapters by—let’s see, when do I have you next? Friday? Good, you’ll have plenty of time to write really detailed ones, then.” She smiled thinly, her scars moving on her cheeks like little boats bobbing up and down on the tide. They were hardly noticeable from a distance but up close it was off-putting to look at someone who had letters spelled-out across their face, and Rose had made sure to get a seat in the front row. She tried hard not to stare. It already felt like Professor Edgecombe was looking at her more often than she did any of the other students. It made Rose feel like she had done something wrong, but she couldn’t think what. She had even taken her dad’s advice and only raised her hand for _most_ of the questions she knew the answer to, not all of them.

“Think of this easy start like a little welcome-to-Hogwarts present for your first day and mine both,” Professor Edgecombe told them brightly as the bell rang signaling the end of the lesson.

“Thank you, professor,” the students mumbled obediently, getting to their feet and stuffing their parchment and quills back into their bags. Rose made sure to scribble the assignment down in the planner her mother had given her; she was sure she would get homework from her other teachers too, and she wanted to be careful not to forget about any of it.

Everybody trooped out in a clump, nodding or waving their farewells to the Charms professor. She smiled at them awkwardly—or at least, her scars made her smile look awkward. Rose wished she had the courage to ask her how she had gotten them—but perhaps that was why she had been placed in Ravenclaw rather than in Gryffindor: she had enough curiosity to want to know the answer, but not enough courage to ask the question.

Rose sighed and shouldered her bag. She had to resist the urge to rub the back of her neck as she walked out of the classroom; the hair on the back of her neck kept prickling, like someone was staring at her.

“We’ve got a twenty minute break,” Agnes announced, checking her watch. “What do you want to do, go back up to the common room?”

“No,” Rose shook her head, “we’d probably waste half of it trying to figure out the new riddle.”

“Besides,” Millie added nervously, “if we run into this Peeves character, it might take us twenty minutes just to get to our next lesson. Let’s just head there now, and if we get there early, we can relax while we wait for it to start,” she suggested. “Yeah?”

“Sounds good,” said Agnes and Rose together, and they grinned at each other. “Jinx,” said Agnes, and Rose laughed. She did miss Albus but it wasn’t so bad, sharing classes with the other Ravenclaws. Maybe if she gave it some time she might even end up making friends with some of them. Besides, she was off to see Uncle Neville next, and that was sure to be fun.

It looked like it was going to be a wonderful first day.

\- - - -

Albus couldn’t remember ever having a more terrible day. First he hadn’t been able to remember where he was when he’d woken up, which meant that the horrible events of the night before had all come back to him in a painful rush of realization. Then he’d had to deal with the enthusiasm of his new housemates, which meant faking a smile and talking cheerfully even though all he wanted to do was crawl back under the covers and stay there forever. Even Scorpius, who knew that Albus was miserable and at least tried to steer the conversation away from him, was bubbling-over with enough delight to make Albus’s stomach cramp. He wasn’t sure if having Scorpius lean over and whisper, “Are you all right?” or “I’m really sorry,” every time the others were distracted was making him feel better or worse.

He _was_ sure that he was dreading nothing as much as he was dreading his first letter from home—not even the smug teasing he was sure he would get from James the minute his brother spotted him. Fortunately James had apparently been too distracted by his own housemates to spare the time to come and find Albus during breakfast—or maybe he just didn’t want anything to do with Albus now, not even in order to mock him—and his parents had probably just gotten the news in their morning post and so wouldn’t be able to get a letter to Albus until lunch or later, so he was spared both of those trials for the moment.

History of Magic was the first class the Slytherins had, though, and that had spared no one. At first Albus had been excited enough by the prospect of having a ghost for a professor to lift his head from his misery and pay attention, but aside from entering through the blackboard itself rather than opening a door to get into the room, Professor Binns did nothing noteworthy or spiritual—or even interesting. His flat, droning voice was worse than merely soporific: it was mind-numbing. As he went on and on and _on_ about the early days of magic Albus’s attention gradually disengaged and by the end of the lesson, he was sitting with his arms on his desk and his head on his arms, eyes still open but glazed-over and staring at nothing in particular.

When the bell rang and he jerked from his stupor he saw that he had written down all of fives lines of notes before the boredom had consumed him. Albus yawned and rubbed his eyes and packed his things away. He stumbled sleepily out the door with the other yawning, bleary-eyed first years.

“That was interminable,” Scorpius complained. “How on earth does anyone take anthropological discourse about the origins of wand-making and make it sound _boring?_ ”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t exactly making it sound exciting either,” he pointed out. “Also, is _that_ what he talked about?”

Scorpius frowned. “You mean you weren’t listening?”

“Not after the first five or ten minutes, no,” Albus said. “Are you saying that you listened to the _whole lecture?”_

“Of course.” Scorpius blinked at him, as though Albus had just said something particularly odd. “That’s what we were here for, wasn’t it? What were _you_ doing?”

Albus shook his head. “I just couldn’t keep focused,” he admitted. “Something about his voice just…”

“Murdered your brain cells?” Suellen Howell suggested drily, slowing to fall back beside them. “Stuffed-up your ears with cotton wool and made you want to set something on fire just to keep your mind from atrophying?”

Albus couldn’t help smiling a little. “Maybe not quite that bad, but pretty close,” he said.

“Okay, yes,” Scorpius said, sounding annoyed, “it was boring—but are you telling me that neither of you even listened?”

“I tried,” Albus protested. “I just…couldn’t.”

Scorpius shook his head, looking baffled.

“If you managed to keep your wits active with that dead bore droning on, there must be something wrong with your brain,” Suellen said flatly. “But on the other hand, if you’re willing to share your notes with those of us who are less immune to the brain-drain effects of Professor Bloody Boring Binns, I’ll tell everybody it’s a talent instead of a mental condition.”

Scorpius looked offended but before he could come up with a sharp retort Sarah said, in a soft voice, “I took notes too. I’m not sure how good they are—I didn’t understand everything he was saying, and I don’t think he saw me when I put my hand up to ask about it—but I’ve got notes. If you want to see them.”

She turned pink when Suellen turned to gawp at her. “You, too?” she said. “Well, it probably means you’re seriously mental, but I’m not going to complain. Thanks.”

“See?” Scorpius scowled. “Everybody else paid attention, you two just need to try harder.”

“Wrong.” The girl who had been so angry about being splattered with pumpkin juice the night before paused on her way down the stairs to rake a supercilious glance across the four of them. “Nobody else paid attention aside from you two. I was watching. Everyone else put their quills down before he even started on the bit about the unicorn. Sorry Malfoy, you’re the freak this time.” She flashed a thin smirk and walked away.

“Well—well you’re just as strange, then!” Scorpius retorted. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have even known he talked about a unicorn! And it wasn’t just one unicorn, either!” The girl waved a hand dismissively over her shoulder and kept walking, not even bothering to turn around. “What a—a prat,” Scorpius grumbled. “There’s nothing _strange_ about paying attention in class. That’s the whole point of class in the first place!”

“I’m not arguing,” Albus said, raising his hands conciliatorily. “I didn’t doze off on _purpose_. Look, it’s probably just because it was the first class of the morning. That’s too early for a lecture class. And I didn’t sleep well last night anyway. I was tired, it’s not my fault. Binns was really boring.”

“Well…probably they shouldn’t have put History of Magic first thing in the morning, no,” Scorpius admitted grudgingly. “I _do_ feel sleepier now than I did when I walked in there.”

“I feel nice and rested,” Suellen said, smirking. “I think I like it being first. Good opportunity for a nap.”

Scorpius gave a little squawk of indignation but Suellen was already skipping away, pulling Sarah along behind her.

“I do _not_ think I like our other housemates,” Scorpius observed darkly. Albus chuckled.

“Oh come on, it’s not even been a day yet.” A musical Irish lilt made them both turn. A tall, handsome boy of Japanese descent walked up to them with a crooked grin on his face. Albus couldn’t remember his name, although he knew he’d introduced himself the night before. Apparently his confusion was evident on his features because the boy smiled at him and said, “Haru Oshiro, if you’ve forgotten.” He held out his left hand to shake and Albus took it, hoping that his hot blush wasn’t evident on his brown cheeks.

“Sorry,” he said, “It’s been a long couple hours. Er—Albus Potter, by the way.”

“Yeah,” Haru said, still smirking, “I remember. And you’re Malfoy.”

Scorpius nodded, but shook Haru’s hand politely. “Pleasure,” he said, although his voice was a grumble.

Haru laughed at them both and gestured down the hallway; they fell into step beside him. “So,” he said, “what do you two think of our new _casa su castle?_ ”

“What?” said Scorpius.

“Never mind,” said Haru, “it was a joke. Not a good one either, apparently. Anyway, you’re jumping to conclusions a bit early, aren’t you?” he said to Scorpius, returning to the earlier topic. “You don’t want to come to a decision like that too quickly. Otherwise what will be left to do once you’ve had some time to get to know them all better and figure out how annoying they _really_ are?” Albus noticed that when he spoke Haru gestured expansively with his left hand but he kept his right tucked in close to his side. He wondered if it was on purpose, or maybe because the hand that lacked full fingers was sensitive or painful. “Anyway, Floyd’s not bad, even if he does snore in class,” Haru added mischievously.

Floyd Carter, who was walking just in front of them, turned around. “I wasn’t snoring!” he protested. “I wasn’t even sleeping! Anyway, how would you know? You were so out of it you were drooling!”

Haru laughed. “Got me there,” he said. “Maybe they should record Binns talking as a sleep-aide, or rent him out to new parents as a sort of ultimate lullaby. Got a baby you can’t get to go to sleep?” His voice dropped into a mocking approximation of a wireless announcer. “Just try our patented Ghost Professor Lecture Series! Five minutes of talk from our professional droner and your little one will sleep like the dead! Satisfaction guaranteed! Side effects include drooling, snoring, and excruciating boredom in all parties within hearing distance. Try it today, you won’t be awake long enough to regret it!”

They all laughed, even Scorpius. Floyd, who had been the first Slytherin sorted last night and the boy whose cheerful smile had so offended Albus, laughed hardest of all. “Good one,” he said, and clapped Haru on the shoulder, apparently holding no grudge over being teased.

Albus unconsciously found himself relaxing a little. That lasted only until they turned the corner at the bottom of the staircase and saw a group of third year Gryffindor students walking past. Albus placed them by the inclusion of his cousin Lucy in their midst. She saw him too and waved, but fortunately she didn’t stop to chat; Albus didn’t know what he could possibly have said. He jerked his hand in a stiff wave in return, but his stomach plummeted as she walked away.

For his whole life—or as long as he could remember, at least—he had been waiting to come to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He had gone to King’s Cross Station with Teddy several times and had listened eagerly to the older boy’s stories—and later to more stories from Victoire, and Fred, and Dominique, and Molly, and Lucy, and James, and Louis… He and Rose had been talking about all the adventures they would have and all the wonderful things they would learn here ever since they were little. Now here he was at last, and not only was Rose not by his side, but he couldn’t even face the rest of his cousins. _He was in Slytherin_. How was he going to face any of his family ever again?

No longer sleepy and thoroughly miserable, Albus trudged along behind Scorpius, Floyd, and Haru. They had a short break between their morning classes but Albus would just as soon have gone straight to his next lesson; then he wouldn’t have had to face the prospect of making small talk with students happy to be sorted into Slytherin while he was trying not to cry over how badly he had disappointed his family.

He didn’t know what he would have done without Scorpius. The thin, pale boy was stilted enough to be awkward, as Rose had observed, but he was also quick to pull the conversation away from Albus every time it got to be too much for him. He kept the other Slytherins occupied so they didn’t notice that Albus was hardly participating in their talk—or at least they didn’t seem to notice, and none of them said anything about it. He hoped that if their situations had been reversed that he would have done as much for Scorpius and he made a mental note to thank him for it later—sometime when there was no one else around to overhear.

Still, when the bell rang to signal the start of the next lesson, it came as a relief. Albus would have taken a chair in the back of the room, where he was unlikely to be noticed, but that would have meant breaking away from Scorpius to sit on his own; the pale boy made a beeline right for the front row of desks, just like he had done in History of Magic. Albus didn’t expect their Transfiguration teacher to be as disinterested in their students as Professor Binns had been but he took the seat next to Scorpius anyway, weighing his value as an ally as greater than the benefits provided by an unobtrusive seat in the back. At least this teacher was a stranger, not an old family friend.

Professor Avery entered at a brisk walk, dropped a handful of scrolls onto her desk, and turned to survey the class through sharp, narrow brown eyes. In the bright light from the windows along one side of the room the pale scar across her dark face looked even more pronounced than it had in the flickering torchlight of the Great Hall. Albus gulped when she turned her glittering gaze on him and he fought the urge to squirm down low in his chair like a turtle.

When Professor Avery moved to stare at the next student in line it was like someone had lifted a weight from his shoulders. Albus took a deep breath and sagged back in his chair with relief. Scorpius quailed under that sharp gaze too, visibly squirming in his seat, which made Albus feel a little better. The girl next to Scorpius—Tamara Rosethorn, still wearing her hair in two fat pigtails—barely blinked and Haru ducked his head nervously but still managed a smile. On the other hand, the girl who had gotten splashed with pumpkin juice actually squeaked aloud in dismay, which made Albus and Scorpius both grin.

“Welcome to Transfiguration,” Professor Avery said at last, after she had inspected all her students. Her voice was as bland and flat as it had been last night when she had been calling off their names. “Before we get started, let me first tell you that this is one of the most precise areas of magic and one that can have very real consequences when executed imperfectly. As such, there will be absolutely no tomfoolery or nonsense tolerated in this classroom and anyone who disobeys this stricture will face serious repercussions not only from the potential of backfiring magic, but from me as well. And don’t think that just because I’m your Head of House I’ll hesitate to take points if you cross me.”

Somehow Albus and the other first years managed to mutter and mumble their way through assurances that they would behave and be careful. Professor Avery let them squirm for another second, then lifted a scroll from her desk to take roll. Nobody dared to give her a funny answer when she called their name.

Professor Avery kept them on their toes all lesson, although in the last ten minutes of class she allowed them to take out their wands and practice some of the movements she had described. It wasn’t as good as getting to actually do magic, but it was better than History of Magic where they’d gotten to do nothing more exciting than take notes (and nap). Professor Avery watched them all with sharp eyes, ruthlessly correcting grips and angles until everyone could execute the moves perfectly. Albus had a feeling that even if her class had been first thing after a night of no sleep nobody would have dared to nap during it.

His stomach was rumbling by the time Transfiguration ended with an admonition from Professor Avery to keep practicing their wand movements and be ready to perform the spell for her next class. Albus didn’t bother to write the instruction down; he couldn’t imagine forgetting something she had told him to do, and he didn’t want to take the time right now to fish-out the planner Aunt Hermione had given him. From the way everybody hurried downstairs to the Great Hall, Albus had a feeling he wasn’t the only one eager for lunch. Breakfast seemed like a very long time ago and Albus had been too miserable to eat a lot. Scorpius had only picked at his eggs and toast too, but in his case it had been because he was too busy talking to their new housemates to remember to feed himself properly.

“I’m starving,” he announced, sounding surprised. Albus laughed at him.

He stopped laughing abruptly when he recognized the face of the boy pushing his way toward him through the crowd: his brother, James.

Albus stopped dead in the middle of the doorway, opening his mouth to try and say something that would head-off James’s teasing, but then his brother did something Albus would never have expected: he hugged him.

“I’m so sorry, Al,” James said, stepping back and frowning at him with an uncommonly sincere expression on his freckled brown face. “I really am. I never thought that you’d _really_ get put in Slytherin. I was just taking the mickey because I knew it upset you. I wouldn’t have teased you about it if I had really thought you’d be sorted there, honest. Are you okay? Is there anything we can do?”

Albus’s mind whirled. He caught sight of his housemates watching them out of the corner of his eye and winced; what was his brother thinking?

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, and tried to pull away but James had his hands tight on Albus’s shoulders and wouldn’t let him go. “Leave off,” Albus demanded.

James shook his head. “I already talked to Uncle Neville about it and he said there’s nothing he can do, but maybe if we write to dad he can pull some strings and get you put where you belong. I mean, there has to have been some kind of mistake, right? There’s no way you’re _supposed_ to be in _Slytherin_.”

He said the word like it was something dirty. Albus glanced sideways and saw the frowns on his housemates’ faces. Right now they mostly looked confused but he could see one or two of them starting to get angry, offended—and why wouldn’t they? Anybody would be insulted if someone talked about them and their House the way that James was talking about Slytherin in front of them. Did James really not realize what he was doing, or did he just not care? Albus had to spend the next seven years with these people. He couldn’t have them knowing that he didn’t want to be there! They’d make his life a misery.

“I said I’m fine,” Albus repeated, louder this time. He shoved his brother’s hands away. “I’m happy I’m in Slytherin,” he lied hotly, “so shove off, you tosser!”

James stepped back, shock and horror on his face. “You what?” he said.

“I said, shove off,” Albus repeated, glowering at his idiot brother. He wasn’t sure what upset him more: the fact that James had just revealed his misery to his new housemates or the fact that in order to save face in front of them he’d had to pretend to be happy to be in Slytherin. James hadn’t left him any other choice, though; what else could he do, make enemies of his whole House?

“Well fine then,” James snapped, scowling to hide the fact that he was hurt by his brother’s response to his concern. “If you’re so happy with the snakes, suit yourself.” He turned on his heel and stomped off across the hall to the Gryffindor table.

Albus watched him go, feeling sick.

After a while Scorpius took his arm and gently tugged him forward to the table on the opposite side of the room. “Come on,” he said, “forget about him. Let’s get some lunch.”

“Okay,” said Albus in a dull voice and let his friend pull him forward to join the other Slytherins.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, I haven't abandoned my [Green-Eyed Snake](https://archiveofourown.org/series/21047) series! The fourth installment is coming along nicely and I estimate that I'm more than halfway done, and will continue to be working devotedly on that piece until it's complete -- but I could not resist the chance to actually publish the first part of this story on September the 1st, 2017! That was just too good to pass up.


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